ENSENORE. 


A    POEM. 


"— —  of  moat  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field, 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe 
And  sold  to  slavery 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak." 

SHAKSPEARE. 

" one  of  those  still  lakes, 

That  in  a  shining  cluster  lie, 
jOn  which  the  south  wind  scarcely  breaks 
The  image  of  the  sky." 

BRTAWT. 


NEW- YORK: 
WILEY     AND    PUTNAM, 

161    BROADWAY. 
1840. 


Entered  according  to  the  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1840, 

BT  WILXT   *   rOTlUJf, 

In  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


PRINTED  BT   WILLIAM  OSBORS,   88   WILLUM-STBEET. 


ps 


TO 


HIS    EXCELLENCY, 


WILLIAM     H.     SEWARD, 


GOVEHNOB  OF  THE    STATE   OF  NEW-YORK, 
&C.,    &C., 


THIS     POEM, 

THE  SCENE   OF  WHICH   IS   PRINCIPALLY  -UTOS  THE   BEAUTIFUL  LAKE  IN  THE 
VICINITY    OF    HIS    COUNTRY    RESIDENCE, 


(BY  PERMISSION) 


RESPECTFULLY     INSCRIBED, 


BY  HIS  FRIEND, 


THE  AUTHOR. 


904100 


PREFACE 


THE  author  of  the  following  Poem  is  well  aware  that  histo 
rians  seem  to  be  under  the  impression,  that  a  prominent  event 
alluded  to  therein,  occurred  at  a  diflerent  season  of  the  year 
from  the  one  assumed.  But  the  question  of  correctness  be 
tween  them  and  him  is  unnecessary  to  be  discussed.  If  they 
are  correct,  the  inevitable  inference  is,  that  there  was  a  repe 
tition 'of  the  catastrophe  alluded  to,  at  some  subsequent  date. 
At  all  events,  his  poem  which,  though  designed  in  some  de 
gree  to  elucidate  the  character  and  customs  of  the  aborigines, 
claims  to  be  only  a  romance,  is  unquestionably  entitled  to 
the  benefit  of  such  an  hypothesis. 

"  Romantic  poetry,"  says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "  comprehends 
a  fictitious  narrative,  framed  and  combined  at  the  pleasure  of 
the  writer,  beginning  and  ending  as  he  may  judge  best,  which 
is  free  from  the  technical  rules  of  the  Epee,  and  is  subject 
only  to  those  which  good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good  morals 
apply  to  every  species  of  poetry,  without  exception.  The 
date  may  be  in  a  remote  age,  or  in  the  present;  the  story 
may  detail  the  adventures  of  a  prince,  or  of  a  peasant.  In 
a  word,  the  author  is  absolute  master  of  his  country  and  its 
inhabitants,  and  every  thing  is  permitted  to  him,  except  to 


VI  PREFACE. 

be  heavy  or  prosaic,  for  which,  free  and  unembarrassed  as  ho 
is,  he  has  no  manner  of  apology." 

Although  this  b  his  first  appearance  before  the  public,  the 
author  is  not  prepared  with  any  plea,  by  which  to  propitiate 
their  favor.  If  arraigned  by  those  Public  Prosecutors  in 
behalf  of  the  literary  world — the  critics — he  has  but  little 
to  say,  beyond  what  his  work  itself  may  present,  why  sen 
tence  should  not  be  passed  against  him;  though  he  claims 
that  the  fact  of  this  being  a  first  offence,  shall  be  received 
in  extenuation  of  his  guilt,  and  in  mitigation  of  his  punish 
ment. 

Yet,  to  such  of  his  friends  as  may  be  cognizant  of  the 
authorship,  he  takes  this  opportunity  of  saying  that  a  poem, 
necessarily  written  and  revised  at  intervals  of  business  hours, 
could  not  well  be  free  from  blemishes,  and  he  believes  that  his 
efforts  in  a  cause  which  he  has  much  at  heart — that  of  giving 
more  of  a  national  feature  to  American  poetry — will  be  appre 
ciated  by  them,  at  least,  and  rewarded  by  their  approbation. 


ENSEN  ORE . 


PART    FIRST. 


ENSENORE. 


PART    FIRST. 


I. 


THE  Mohawk,  from  its  western  source, 

Where  silently  and  calm  it  flows, 
To  where  it  takes  a  torrent's  force 

And  dashes  down  the  dark  Cahoes  ; 
By  that  proud  mart,  upon  its  shore,1 
Where  echoed  once  the  cannon's  roar, 
When  patriot  blood  flowed  fast  and  free, 
On  thy  red  field,  Oriskany  ! 
2 


10  ENSENORE. 

And  that,  where  towering  to  the  skies, 
Wild  Astorogan'e  hills  arise,3 
And  many  a  place  of  humbler  name, 
Haply,  as  yet,  unknown  to  fame, 
Now  mirrors,  faithfully  and  true, 
Within  its  silent  depths  of  blue, 
The  lofty  spire  and  gilded  dome, 

And  marble  mansion  by  its  side, 
And  with  the  busy  hamlet's  hum 

Mingles  the  music  of  its  tide. 


II. 


But  not  of  these,  the  minstrel's  rhyme, 
His  talc  is  of  the  olden  time, 

When  that  dark  stream  no  burthen  bore, 
Save  where  the  gossamer  canoe 
Across  its  shaded  surface  flew, 

A  hundred  years  agone,  and  more. 
They  were  not  then,  the  towns  that  rise, 
Like  magic,  to  the  traveller's  eyes, 
Wild  Mohawk  !  in  thy  every  glen 
And  every  dale  —  they  were  not  then. 
Pathless  and  proud,  upon  thy  side, 
Stood  unhewn  forests  dark  and  wide, 


ENSENORE.  11 


The  red  deer  had  his  rambles  there, 
The  wild -cat  and  the  wolf  their  lair, 
And  where  was  only  heard  the  cry 

Of  panther  fierce,  or  savage  yell, 
The  silvery  echoes  now  reply 

To  matin  and  to  vesper  bell. 


III. 


Yet  not  through  forest  wilds  alone, 

Rolled  even  then  thy  chainless  tide, 
One  little  colony  had  grown 

In  graceful  beauty  by  thy  side  : 
'T  was  but  a  germ,  but  ere  the  blast 
Of  desolation  o'er  it  passed, 
Held  many  a  happy  home  and  hearth, 
Where  rang  the  merry  notes  of  mirth, 
And  doubtless  had  its  fitting  share 
Of  human  hopes  and  human  care, 
Who  seeks  it  now,  will  find  it  not ; 
A  city  proud  usurps  the  spot, 
Whose  glistening  domes  and  towering  spires, 

And  streets  with  trade  and  commerce  rife, 
Tell  not  the  tale  of  midnight  fires, 

And  faggot  flames,  and  bloody  strife, 


12  ENSENORE. 

Which  left  a  scorched  and  blackened  strand, 
Where  now  her  Halls  of  Science  stand. 


IV. 


The  Muse  aspires  not  to  relate 
That  hapless  town's  appalling  fate  ; 
How,  bursting  on  the  gloom  of  night, 
The  war-torch  shed  its  lurid  light, 

And  how  adown  the  vale. 
Echoing  from  many  a  distant  dell, 
Rang  the  red  warrior's  hideous  yell, 
There  live,  who  heard  their  grandsires  tell, 

And  shudder  at  the  tale. 
It  now  avails  not  to  recite 
The  story  of  that  fearful  night, 
Or  say,  'neath  the  relentless  hand 
Of  foes,  who  fought  with  blade  and  brand, 
How  many  fathers  fighting  died, 
E'en  at  their  murdered  children's  side, 
How  many  noble  hearts  were  crushed, 
How  many  lovely  lips  were  hushed, 

And  infant  voices  stilled  ; 
A  hundred  years  since  then  have  sped, 
And  those  who  fell  and  those  who  fled, 


ENSENORE.  13 


Alike  are  numbered  with  the  dead, 
Their  destiny  fulfilled. 


V. 


More  recent  days,  alas  !  disclose 
Enough  of  human  wiles  and  woes  ; 
The  passing  years  are  ushering  in 
Enough  of  wretchedness  and  sin, 
Nor  need  we  turn  the  leaves  of  Time 
So  far,  to  find  a  page  of  crime  ; 
Yet,  if  to  some  belongs  the  meed 
Of  fame,  for  high  heroic  deed, 
For  them,  although  they  may  not  claim 
On  History's  faithless  page,  a  name, 
The  bard  may  be  allowed  to  stand 
Within  Tradition's  cloudy  land, 
Recall  its  shadowy  train  to  day, 
And,  much  presuming,  seek  to  stay 
From  them,  awhile,  the  threatened  fall 
Of  drear  Oblivion's  ebon  pall. 


14  ENSENORE. 


VI. 


And  well  the  minstrel's  meed  is  due 
To  them,  the  bold  and  fearless  few, 
Who  on  that  night  of  death  withstood, 
And  stemmed  the  torrent  tide  of  blood  ; 
Foremost  of  whom,  young  ENSENORE  3 
Long  urged  them  to  th'  unequal  war, 
Besought  them,  though  they  might  not  hope 
Long  with  that  savage  horde  to  cope, 
That  they  would  not  ignobly  fly, 
And  leave  their  helpless  ones  to  die, 
When  each  protracted  moment  proved 
Safety  and  life  to  some  they  loved  ; 
"  And  hasten" —  to  a  youth  he  cried, 
Who  fought,  unfaltering,  at  his  side  — 
"  Haste  to  our  trembling  friends,  and  say, 
"  We  hold  these  fiends  a  while  at  bay, 
"  And  bid  them  fly,  as  best  they  may." 


VII. 

In  vain,  alas  !  that  gallant  band 
Amid  their  fallen  comrades  stand  ; 


ENSKNORE.  15 

In  vain  for  mothers,  sisters,  wives, 

Yield  one  by  one  their  valued  lives  ; 

Another  party  of  the  foe, 

Unseen,  had  gained  the  town  below ; 

They  saw  at  once  the  fearful  proofs, 

In  columned  smoke  and  blazing  roofs, 

While  rang  the  war-whoop  through  the  air, 

Mingled  with  shrieks  of  wild  despair. 

One  moment  gazed  those  gallant  men, 

A  moment  paused  and  even  then, 

While,  hesitating  yet  to  fly, 

They  sought  their  dauntless  leader's  eye, 

Their  messenger  returning  stood, 

And  pointed  where  the  foe  pursued  ; 

"  A  few,"  the  breathless  envoy  said, 

"  A  few,  a  safe  retreat  have  made  ; 

"  The  rest  are  far  beyond  your  aid  ; 

"  In  vain  your  valor,  ENSENORE  !" 

He  said,  and  pointing  to  the  shore, 

"  Ye  who  to  rescue  or  repay, 

"  Would  wait  a  more  auspicious  day, 

"  Quick,  to  your  boats,  away  !  away  I" 


16  ENSENORE. 


VIII. 

Thy  wild  and  terror-stricken  wave, 
Mohawk  !  a  doubtful  refuge  gave, 
For  as  adown  thy  darkened  stream, 

Beneath  the  star's  still  light  they  steer, 
Comes  ever  and  anon  the  scream 

Of  some  new  sufferer  to  their  ear ; 
The  light  by  some  new  beacon  given, 

Sheds  on  their  watery  way  its  glare, 
And  rises  fearfully  to  Heaven, 

As  if,  in  lasting  letters  there, 
To  write  upon  the  changeless  sky, 
A  deed  of  such  a  damning  die. 


IX. 


A  neighboring  village  gave  ere  day 

Asylum  to  the  few  who  fled  ; 
But  mid  the  sufferers,  none,  as  they, 
Who  mourned  their  bright  one  snatched  away, 

Might  envy  e'en  the  dead  — 
An  aged  pair,  to  whom  kind  Heaven 
A  pure  and  sinless  child  had  given, 


ENSENORE.  17 

A  gentle  girl,  on  whose  fair  head, 

Scarce  twenty  springs  their  smiles  had  shed  ; 

Sole  solace  of  their  failing  years  ; 

Sole  centre  of  their  hopes  and  fears  ; 

The  only  light  of  their  lone  hearth, 

The  only  tie  'twixt  them  and  earth  — 

They  saw  her  struggling  with  the  foe, 

And  borne  away — they  did  not  know 

If  it  were  given  at  once  to  die, 

Or  a  protracted  death  to  live, 
But  they  had  heard  her  last  wild  cry 

Invoke  the  aid  they  could  not  give. 
Tears  are  for  those  who  lightly  mourn, 
They  came  not  to  that  pair  forlorn. 


X. 


Mature  in  every  youthful  grace, 
And  more  than  beautiful  of  face, 
Refined  of  heart,  and  free  from  guile, 
Gladdening  all  bosoms  with  her  smile  — 
An  eye,  for  whose  effulgence  bright, 

Revealing  thoughts  of  sinless  love, 
Elsewhere,  there  seemed  no  kindred  light, 

Than  its  own  radiant  Fount  above  ; 
3 


ENSENORE. 

Such  was  Kathreen — such  she,  for  whom, 
Were  wrapt  those  aged  hearts  in  gloom, 

And,  like  the  patriarch  of  yore, 
In  silent  grief,  they  sought  the  tomb, 

Nor  heeded  words  of  comfort  more. 


XI. 


Nor  they  alone  that  lost  one  wept ; 

Her  image,  in  another  heart, 
Enshrined  and  loved,  had  long  been  kept, 

As  of  itself  a  part. 
Say,  ENSENORE,  when  wild  and  high, 
Rang  through  the  night,  thy  battle  cry, 

Till  far  responsive  echoes  woke  ; 
When,  'neath  the  flash  of  thy  lone  sword, 
Fell  back,  dismayed,  that  savage  horde, 

As  from  the  lightning  stroke  ; 
When  thy  first  feats  in  arms  surpassed 
The  fame  of  many  a  hero's  last ; 
Was  not  the  hope  that  nerved  thy  arm, 
To  shield  that  lovely  one  from  harm  ? 
Now,  desolate,  Earth's  regions  wide 
Hold  none  that's  dear  to  thee  beside. 


ENSENORE.  19 


XH. 

Yet  while  his  heart  was  filled  with  wo, 

One  gleam  of  sunlight  entered  there, 
For  Hope  delights  to  set  her  bow 

Amid  thy  blackest  clouds,  Despair  ! 
She  yet  might  live  —  her  lover  thought  — 
The  savage,  though  his  breast  were  fraught 
With  vengeance  for  a  murdered  race, 
Would  pause  to  gaze  on  that  dear  face, 
And  gazing,  drop  his  nerveless  arm, 
Without  the  power  or  will  to  harm  ; 
And  they,  each  brave  and  young  compeer, 
Survivors  of  that  night  of  fear, 

The  remnant  of  their  chivalry, 
Who  round  their  broken  altars  kneel, 
"  With  hearts  of  fire  and  nerves  of  steel," 

Would  answer  to  his  rallying  cry, 
And  whether  on  the  river's  tide, 
Or  through  the  forests  dark  and  wide, 

Led  their  retreating  path, 
No  covert  should  have  power  to  hide 

The  miscreants  from  his  wrath. 


20  ENSENORE. 


XIII. 

But  ah  !  'math  Reason's  milder  ray, 
He  saw  these  bright  dreams  fade  away. 
A  Xerxian  army  might  have  poured 

Its  millions  over  lake  and  plain, 
And  every  deep'ning  forest  scoured, 

Yet  found  not  his  Kathreen  again. 
Alas  for  him  !  he  did  not  dare 
With  any  force,  essay  to  tear 
The  fawn  from  out  the  lion's  jaws, 
The  lamb  from  'neath  the  tiger's  claws. 
Alas  for  him  !  Hope's  fleeting  light 
Was  like  the  electric  flash  at  night, 
Which  gilds  the  gloom  of  Heaven  o'er, 
Then  leaves  it  darker  than  before. 


XIV. 

But  where  is  she,  the  hapless  fair, 
For  whom  a  father's  heart  is  rent, 

For  whom  a  mother's  ceaseless  prayer, 
Up  to  the  throne  of  God  is  sent? 


ENSENORE.  21 

When  she,  the  lost,  awoke  to  life, 

She  saw  no  more  th'  uplifted  knife, 

The  war-whoop  rang  not  in  her  ear, 

The  victor's  shout,  the  shriek  of  fear — 

What  marvel  if  the  maiden  deem 

That  she  hath  woke  from  some  dread  dream  ? 

"  Mother  !"  half  doubtingly,  she  spoke  ; 

Oh  ne'er,  before,  such  accents  woke 

The  echoes  of  that  gloomy  spot, 
Where,  on  the  rough  and  leaves -strewn  ground, 
A.  hundred  warriors  lay  around 
In  sleep,  calm,  quiet  and  profound, 

Their  murderous  deeds  forgot. 
They  slept — their  ruthless  hands  imbrued 
All  recently  in  human  blood ; 
Scarcely  beyond  the  light  retired, 
Of  the  fair  town  their  brands  had  fired ; 
Beneath  the  Heavens  where  angels  wept 
O'er  their  atrocious  deeds  —  they  slept. 


XV. 


With  the  first  gleam  of  morning  light, 
That  coward  band  commenced  their  flight, 
For  sudden  vengeance,  well  they  knew, 
Would  their  retreating  steps  pursue, 


22  ENSENORE. 

And  far  from  the  awakening  ire 
Of  dreaded  foemen,  they  retire, 
For,  whereso'er  the  red  deer  roam, 
All  spots,  alike,  to  them,  are  home. 
Yet  little  thought  to  fear  they  gave, 
When  once  embarked  upon  the  wave  ; 
The  mettled  steed  that  mocks  the  wind, 
Had  scarcely  left  their  fleet  behind, 

So  rapid  was  their  flight ; 
And  ere  adown  the  golden  west, 
The  second  sun  had  sunk  to  rest, 

Their  oar-blades  flashed  his  light, 
Where  Trenton's  wild  and  wizard  stream 4 
Flows  darkly,  like  a  troubled  dream. 


XVI. 


Yet  not  by  fear  alone  impelled, 
So  far  their  westward  course  they  held. 
Congenial  arts,  war  and  the  chase, 
By  turns  employ  the  savage  race, 

And  wanderers,  like  the  northern  Hun, 
It  was  their  annual  wont  to  pay 
A  visit  to  the  lands  that  lay 

Afar  toward  the  setting  sun. 


ENSENORE.  23 


There  game,  profuse,  was  ever  found  ; 
There  was  their  chosen  hunting  ground, 
Amid  the  seven  fair  lakes  that  lie  5 
Like  mirrors  'neath  the  summer  sky. 


XVII, 

There,  oft,  the  fervid  heat  to  shun, 
What  time  the  Lion  holds  the  Sun,6 
The  panting  deer  resort  to  lave 
Their  burning  breasts  within  the  wave 
There,  'neath  the  cool  translucent  tide, 
The  finny  race  were  seen  to  glide, 
And  in  the  over-arching  blue, 
Circling  afar,  the  wild-fowl  flew. 
Embowered  within  the  silent  wood, 
Reposed  each  calm  and  placid  flood  ; 
Unknown  to  them  the  cumbrous  keel, 
Unknown  the  sound  of  plashing  wheel ; 
Sped  not  before  the  evening  gale, 
As  now,  the  light  and  snowy  sail, 
And  all  unheard  in  glen  or  glade 
The  voice  or  laugh  of  merry  maid. 
O'er  silent  lakes  and  silent  streams 
The  morning  shed  its  golden  beams 


24  ENSENORE. 

O'er  deep  ravine  and  wooded  hill, 
O'er  solemn  forests  dark  and  still. 
Unseen  by  one  admiring  eye, 
The  bow  of  promise  spanned  the  sky  ; 
And  when,  at  eve,  the  gentle  breeze 

From  far  its  spicy  treasures  bore, 
Bowed  'neath  its  breath,  the  graceful  trees, 

And  waves  went  murm'ring  to  the  shore. 


XVIII. 

Such  was  the  region  which  they  sought, 
A  fairy  land,  with  beauties  fraught, 
And  leaving  there  the  river's  side, 
Where  northward  turns  its  lessening  tide,7 
They,  through  the  trackless  forests  rove, 

The  only  churt  their  way  to  show, 
By  night,  the  glittering  stars  above, 

By  day,  the  humble  moss  below.8 
Kathreen,  compelled,  what  time  she  could, 
With  them  must  thrid  the  pathless  wood, 
And  when  her  limbs,  too  lithe  and  frail, 
With  toil  unwont,  entirely  fail, 
On  boughs  from  neighboring  saplings  torn, 
A  litter  rude,  the  maid  is  borne. 


KNSENORE.  25 

Then  fell,  in  floods,  the  captive's  tears  ; 

Then  highest  rose  her  withering  fears  ; 

For  well,  alas,  too  well  she  knows 

The  grace,  the  Indian  captor  shows 

To  those  of  whom  he  has  not  need, 

Whene'er  they  fail  in  strength  or  speed, 

Gleams  in  the  glittering  scalping-knife, 

A  brief  discharge  from  tedious  life  ! 

And  such  a  doom,  the  captive  maid 

Had  thought  was  hers  —  for  such  she  prayed  — 

Prayed  with  her  faint  and  failing  breath, 

A  suppliant  for  the  boon  of  death. 

XIX. 

Three  times  the  setting  sun  has  shed 

Its  light  upon  their  forest  way  ; 
Three  times  the  shades  of  night  have  fled, 
While,  in  her  guarded  bough-built  bed, 

Kathreen,  unsleeping,  waits  the  day, 
And  they,  at  early  eve,  have  found 
Their  fav'rite  western  hunting  ground, 
Upon  the  shore  of  that  fair  lake, 

Whose  waters  are  the  clearest,  brightest, 
Whose  silver  surges  ever  break 

Upon  her  pebbled  margin,  lightest ; 


ENSENORE. 


Where  dips  the  lark  her  sportive  wings, 
And  where  the  robin  red-breast  sings, 
And  where,  in  many  a  shaded  dell, 
The  viewless  echoes  love  to  dwell. 


ENSENORE 


PART    SECOND. 


ENSENORE. 


PART    SECOND. 


I. 


OWASCO'S  waters  sweetly  slept,9 

Owasco's  banks  were  bright  and  green, 
The  willow  on  her  margin  wept, 

The  wild-fowl  on  her  wave  were  seen, 
And  Nature's  golden  charms  were  shed, 
As  richly  round  her  quiet  bed, 
From  flowered  mead  to  mountain  brow, 
A  century  since  as  they  are  now ; 


30  ENSENORE. 

The  same  pure  purple  light  was  flung, 

At  morn,  across  the  water's  breast ; 
The  same  rich  crimson  curtains  hung, 

At  eve,  around  the  glowing  west. 
But  seldom  then  the  white  man's  eye 

Imbibed  the  beauties  of  that  view; 
Unnoticed,  spread  the  cloudless  sky 

Its  canopy  of  spotless  blue ; 
Unnoticed,  back  to  Heaven,  the  wave 
That  azure  sky's  pure  semblance  gave. 


II. 


'T  was  evening — o'er  the  waters  blue, 
The  setting  sun  his  radiance  threw, 
Flinging  o'er  hill  and  dale  and  stream, 
A  mellowed  light — a  farewell  beam  ; 
And  where,  afar,  the  forests  rise, 
With  their  green  surface  to  the  skies, 
Shedding,  o'er  that,  a  shower  of  light, 
While  all  beneath  was  dark  as  night. 
Alas  !  not  theirs  alone  the  case, 

(This  tale  their  fabled  tongues  impart,) 
So,  smiles  may  linger  on  the  face, 

Long  after  they  have  left  the  heart. 


ENSENORE.  31 


III. 


What  boat  flies  round  that  mimic  cape, 

So  silent  on  the  silver  stream, 
Its  second  self  in  size  and  shape, 

Reflected  by  the  watery  beam  ? 
Though  all  unheard  its  paddle's  beat, 

Unseen  its  wake  upon  the  wave, 
The  restless  spirit's  not  more  fleet, 

At  dawn,  returning  to  the  grave  ; 
Onward  —  still  onward,  fast  and  far, 

Toward  yon  distant  light  that  gleams, 
Like  the  horizon's  earliest  star, 

Amid  the  day's  retiring  beams, 
It  speeds  —  and,  though  there's  many  a  mile 

That  beacon  and  that  boat  between, 
'T  will  reach  its  goal  ere  the  first  smile 

From  Heaven's  lamps  illumes  the  scene. 


IV. 

A  single  oar  that  boat  propelled,10 
A  single  occupant  it  held  ; 


32  ENSENORE. 

Who  saw  him,  as  he  onward  sped, 
His  cap  of  fur,  his  plume  of  red, 
His  gaudy  dress  and  painted  face, 
The  trophies  of  his  mountain  chase, 
His  beaded  belt  compactly  tied 
With  all  a  Narraghansett's  pride,11 
The  jewels  pendant  from  his  ear, 
His  oaken  bow  and  quiver  near, 
His  arm  of  bronze,  inured  to  brave 

Unscreened,  the  summer's  burning  heat ; 
The  broidered  moccasins  that  gave 

A  grace  to  his  converging  feet ; ia 
His  sinewy  frame  —  his  noble  air, 

His  lofty  brow  and  martial  frown  ; 
Who  saw  him  thus  —  might  well  declare 

A  Sachem  he,  of  high  renown. 
Yet  not  a  Narraghansett  he, 
Or  Delaware,  or  Shawanee  ; 
Huron  nor  Ottowa  his  race,13 
Nor  his  a  Tuscaroran  face  ; 
Nor  led  he  e'er  to  battle  forth, 
The  five  fierce  nations  of  the  North.14 
The  region  where  his  tribe  belong, 
Is  unenshrined  in  tale  or  song; 
That  chart  must  yet  be  drawn,  I  ween, 
On  which  their  hunting  grounds  are  seen. 


ENSENORE.  33 


V. 


Who  then  is  he,  who  braves  the  wrath 

Of  Indians  in  their  forest  home, 
And  treads  alone  his  dangerous  path, 

Where  the  fierce  Huron  warriors  roam 
A  race,  whose  war-creed  knows  no  name 

For  mercy,  to  a  captive  foe, 
Save  that,  which  with  a  fiercer  flame 

Or  surer  stroke  concludes  his  wo  1 
Hopes  he,  though  in  profound  disguise, 
To  shun  the  vigilance  of  eyes 
That  mark  upon  his  mountain  height 
The  eagle  in  his  loftiest  flight  1 
Steady  must  be  his  nerves  and  calm, 
Who  in  such  strait  shows  not  alarm  ; 
But,  haply,  his  is  errand  high 
Which  he  must  gain,  or,  losing,   die  ; 
Else  were  his  bark  less  fleetly  bent 
Toward  his  deadliest  foernan's  tent. 


34  ENSKNORK. 


VI. 


If,  ere  the  cloud-escorted  sun 

Had  sunk  beneath  the  horizon's  edge, 
While  lingered  yet  his  beams  upon 

Each  verdant  spot  and  rocky  ledge, 
And  in  a  line  of  living  light, 

Their  radiance  o'er  the  waters  threw, 
The  scene  was  such  as  never  Night 

In  all  its  solemn  beauty  knew ; 
Yet,  fair,  beyond  the  power  of  pen, 

The  art  of  pencil  to  portray, 
In  quiet  beauty,  even  then, 

Thy  silver  wave,  Owasco!  lay. 
What  though  thy  charms,  in  twilight  veiled, 

Grew  indistinct  upon  the  eye  I 
What  though  the  far-off  bark  that  sailed, 

Seemed  floating  in  the  adjacent  sky  1 
Though  shrouded  in  the  distance,  lives 

Full  many  a  prospect  green  and  gay, 
The  fertile  fancy  ever  gives 

More  charms  than  darkness  takes  away. 


ENSENORE.  35 


VII. 

'Twas  not  a  beacon  on  the  shore, 

By  maiden's  fairy  fingers  hung, 
That  had,  its  trembling  radiance  o'er 

That  mystic  boatman's  pathway  flung. 
But,  on  an  elevated  site, 

Near  where  the  savages  had  raised 
Their  wigwam  walls,  the  glowing  light 

Of  arid  leaves  and  branches,  blazed. 
Lighting  afar  the  sylvan  scene, 

The  dry  and  crackling  fuel  burned, 
And  though  their  glittering  knives  were  seen, 
All  terrorless  was  now  their  sheen, 

To  culinary  purpose  turned. 
This  was  the  light  that  served  to  guide 
His  pathway  o'er  the  waters  wide, 
And  never  had  a  watch-light  given, 

To  shipwrecked  mariner  such  bliss, 
As  did  the  stranger's  heart  enliven, 

When  first  he  met  the  rays  of  this. 


36  ENSENORE. 


VIII. 

Their  tent  had  scarce  been  pitched  an  hour, 

Scarcely  an  hour  their  fire  had  glowed, 
Ere,  fearless,  tow'rd  their  merry  bower, 

That  skilled  and  rapid  boatman  rowed. 
Silent,  he  moored  his  light  canoe, 
His  bow  upon  his  shoulder  threw  ; 
Needs  it  to  name  that  on  the  shore, 
Beneath  that  guise,  stood  ENSENORE  ? 
Long  on  their  trail  the  youth  had  been, 
And  that  same  day  had  passed  unseen, 
That  thus,  as  from  a  different  way 
He  might  appear  by  chance  to  stray 
Near  where  their  evening  tent  fires  glare, 
And  seem  by  them  attracted  there. 


IX. 


The  various  arts  in  peace  and  war, 
Of  that  rude  race,  knew  ENSCNORE  ; 
Full  well  their  dialect  he  knew, 
Their  customs  and  their  cunning  too, 


ENSENORE.  37 


16 


Could  imitate  their  scalp-halloo,15 
And  chant  the  warrior's  dirge ; 
And  fleet  of  foot,  and  strong  of  limb, 
None  in  the  chase  could  distance  him 
O'er  vale  or  mountain  verge. 


X. 


Words  may  not  tell  the  fearful  power 

Of  thought  and  feeling  in  that  hour : 

One  moment  more  would  serve  to  show 

All  that  on  earth  he  sought  to  know. 

If  yet  she  lived — his  loved  Kathreen, 

If  yet  she  lived,  and  might  be  seen, 

One  only  glance  of  that  dear  face, 

E'en  there,  within  that  fearful  place, 

Unnumbered  dangers  frowning  near, 

Himself  an  object  of  her  fear, 

Would  still  a  thousand  fold  repay 

The  pains  and  perils  of  his  way. 

And,  though  he  deemed  his  deep  disguise 

Impervious  e'en  to  Indian  eyes, 

If  she  were  not  —  he  little  recks 

How  soon  his  head,  the  death-cap  decks  ;  " 

His  tortured  heart  would  gladly  make 

A  refuge  of  the  flame  and  stake. 


38  KNSENORE. 


XL 


Approaching  now  the  wigwam  door, 

A  mien  composed  and  calm  he  bore, 

Entered,  with  still  yet  stately  pace, 

Unquestioned  by  that  stoic  race, 

By  whom  't  were  counted  deep  disgrace, 

To  show  surprise  or  awe,  whate'er 

Betides  of  wonder,  or  of  fear. 

They  question  not  their  guest,  and  yet 

When  their  mute  courtesies  have  passed, 
And  he  has  smoked  the  calumet, 

And  joined  them  in  their  rude  repast, 
Full  well  he  knows,  with  anxious  ear, 
His  name  and  tribe,  they  wait  to  hear. 


XII. 


Yet  did  they  not,  by  word  or  sign, 
Their  hospitable  rites  impair  ; 

Such  duties  do  they  hold  divine, 
Nor  stealthy  look  nor  open  stare 


EN3ENORE.  39 

Once  met  the  stranger's  hurried  view, 
As  round  the  crowd  his  dark  eye  flew ; 
'T  was  well  for  him,  they  viewed  him  not, 
When  first  on  a  secluded  spot 
Of  their  pavilion  wild,  it  fell, 
Encountering  one  he  knew  full  well. 


XIII. 

On  a  rude  couch,  alone,  aloof, 

Sat,  half  reclining,  poor  Kathreen  ; 
His  bosom  had  been  pity-proof, 

Who  without  tears  that  sight  had  seen  'T 
O'er  her  white  robe,  which  yet  retained 
Its  snowy  hue,  though  travel-stained, 
Neglected,  hung  her  flowing  hair, 
And  curled  in  untaught  beauty  there  ; 
One  hand  upheld  her  marble  brow, 
Perturbed  and  pale  and  clouded  now, 
And  one  —  oh  well  knew  ENSENORE 
Each  golden  circlet  that  it  bore  — 
Hung  all  unheeded  at  her  side, 
By  many  a  wondering  warrior  eyed. 
Though  the  first  fear,  the  horror-trace 
Had  vanished  from  her  lovely  face, 


40  ENSENORE. 


A  settled  look  of  hopeless  wo, 
Of  anguish  unalloyed  was  there, 

And  ceaseless  was  the  silent  flow 
Of  tears  that  told  her  deep  despair. 


XIV. 

The  youth's  first  impulse  was  to  start, 
And  clasp  the  maiden  to  his  heart ; 
At  second  thought,  his  flashing  eye 

Calm,  passionless  and  cold  became, 
While  from  his  lips  escaped  a  sigh 

So  slight  it  scarce  deserved  the  name  ; 
Yet  was  it  heard  —  distinct  and  clear 
It  fell  upon  the  captive's  ear  ; 
There  seemed  some  magic  in  the  sound, 
So  wildly  gazed  the  maid  around  ; 
Her  eye  with  brighter  lustre  burned, 
More  pale  her  ashen  features  turned, 
While  hopes  and  fears  —  a  stormy  train, 
Swept,  lightning-like,  across  her  brain. 


F.NSENORE.  41 


XV. 


But,  when  her  mind  more  calm  became, 
And  more  composed  her  trembling  frame, 
With  rapid  eye,  the  maiden  scanned 
Each  warrior  of  that  gloomy  band, 
Seeking  the  source  of  that  light  sigh, 

That  breathed  of  respite  from  her  doom, 
Awakening  dreams  of  days  gone  by 

And  hopes  of  happiness  and  home. 
But  ah  !  more  cold  her  bosom  grew, 
As  o'er  that  crowd  her  quick  eye  flew, 
And  as  from  face  to  face  it  passed, 
Each  sterner,  fiercer,  than  the  last ; 
Nor  deemed  she,  when  her  eye  approached 

And  lingered  on  the  stranger  chief, 
That  such  an  one  could  have  encroached 

On  her  prerogative  of  grief. 


XVI. 

Meanwhile  the  youth  in  gutt'ral  tone, 
In  their  own  tongue,  proceeds  to  tell 
6 


42  ENSENORE. 

Of  wandering  from  his  tribe,  alone, 
Who  in  far  western  forests  dwell, 
As  far  beyond  the  tribes  that  stay 
Near  the  great  cataracts  ceaseless  spray,18 
As,  westward  of  the  Hurons,  they  ; 
Where,  on  a  shell-strewn  island,  stands 
A  bell  not  made  by  mortal  hands,19 
By  which  — when  they  neglect  to  pay 

Due  sacrifice  —  their  ears  were  stunned, 
He  could  not  tell  how  far  the  way, 

The  Sun  went  down  but  just  beyond  ! 
Niperceans  they  —  a  race,  he  said, 
Of  whom,  himself,  the  honored  head 
Was  known  afar,  by  friend  and  foe, 
The  firm  and  fearless  Ivanough.20 

XVII. 


"  I  need  not  tell  the  story  o'er 
Known  well,"  he  said,  "  to  you  before, 
How  from  the  northern  water's  shore 
Before  the  Iroquois  we  fled,21 
Compelled  to  leave  the  sacred  dead. 
Now  all  unhonored  is  the  sod 

That  rises  o'er  their  loved  remains  ; 


ENSENORE.  43 

By  stranger's  feet  their  graves  are  trod 

And  much  my  father's  ghost  complains  ; 
The  time  may  come  —  I  will  not  boast, 
But  I  have  yet  a  hardy  host, 
Whose  hearts  with  hopes  of  vengeance  burn, 

For  their  long  years  of  grief  and  toil  — 
The  time  may  come  when  I  return 

With  blade  and  brand  to  claim  my  soil ; 
Meanwhile  my  royal  rights  I  waive, 
And  as  a  pilgrim  seek  the  grave 

Where  my  ancestral  relics  lie, 
And  if  that  name  protect  me  not 
From  foes  who  haunt  that  hallowed  spot, 
I  am  content  to  die." 


XVIII. 

How  oft,  upon  his  lonely  route, 

He  paused  to  chase  the  forest  deer, 
How  oft  to  catch  the  wily  trout, 

In  some  bright  brook  that  murmured  near, 
And  how,  while  pausing  near  the  lake 
His  little  bark  canoe  to  make, 
With  which  along  its  stream  to  glide, 
Tow'rd  the  Ontario's  distant  tide, 


44  ENSENORE. 

Their  curling  smoke  that  climbed  the  sky 
Had  caught  by  chance  his  roving  eye 
And  lured  him  here  —  aweary  guest  — 
By  travel  worn  and  heat  oppressed, 
With  ear  attent,  they  hear  him  tell 
Their  only  comment,  "  It  is  well!" 


XIX. 

His  rich  regalia  then  they  view, 
Admire  awhile  the  royal  hue 

Of  his  imperial  plume, 
Nor  doubted  that,  where  lay  afar, 
His  home  beneath  the  western  star, 

Its  very  nod  were  doom. 
They  then  relate  their  recent  fight, 

With  exultation  high, 
And  tell,  how  in  the  dead  of  night, 
By  their  wrapt  dwellings'  blazing  light, 

They  saw  their  victims  die  ; 
And  how  their  Chieftain  rescued  there 

From  'neath  the  upraised  knife, 
A  dark-haired  maiden,  pale  and  fair, 
And  bade  them  treat  with  fitting  care 

His  future  fav'rite  wife. 


ENSENORE.  45 

Fair  as  that  star  of  silver  light 
Which  heralds  the  approach  of  Night, 

Was  she,  that  captive  maid  they  said ; 
And  graceful  as  the  sportive  fawn, 
Whose  feet,  in  yonder  verdant  lawn, 

Scarce  crush  the  flowers  on  which  they  tread. 


XX. 

On  secret  expedition  gone, 

That  Chief,  they  said,  almost  alone 

Had  left  their  camp  three  nights  before  ; 
Four  chosen  warriors  with  him  went22 
All  trebly  arrned  —  their  steps  they  bent 

Tow'rd  the  Ontario's  shore. 
They  did  not  know,  or  dare  to  ask, 
The  nature  of  their  secret  task, 
But  by  their  dark  and  threatening  look, 
The  many  weapons  which  they  took, 

Their  moccasins  reversed,23 
Full  well  they  guessed,  ere  now  the  blow 
Upon  some  unsuspecting  foe 

With  fearful  force  had  burst. 
But,  ere  he  left,  he  bade  them  make 
Their  camp  beside  the  Pleasant  Lake, 
And  thither,  yon  fair  maiden  take. 


40  ENSENORE. 

That  chief  would  join  them  soon  they  said, 
And  much  they  talked  of  pastime  gay 

When  he,  the  Eagle-eye,  should  wed 
The  lost  maid  of  Schenectada. 


ENSENORE 


PART    THIRD. 


ENSENORE. 


PART    THIRD. 


I. 


'Tis  morn  —  and  'neath  the  sportive  wing 

Of  the  '  sweet  South,'  the  leaves  are  waving, 
And  shoreward,  gently  murmuring, 

Owasco's  waves  her  beach  are  laving. 
What  maiden  wanders  on  the  shore 

And  freights  the  zephyrs  with  her  sighs  — 
Now  breathes,  unconscious,  "  ENSENORE," 

Now  turns  to  Heaven  her  prayerful  eyes  ? 
7 


50  ENSENORE. 

'  T  is  she  —  the  lost  of  Mohawk's  vale, 

A  captive  in  this  distant  land, 
O'er  whom  the  very  breezes  wail, 

That  sweep  across  that  desert  strand. 
This  had  she  deemed  a  day  of  grace, 
For,  forth  unto"  the  forest  chase, 

The  warriors  of  the  tribe  had  gone, 
And  within  view  of  those  who  keep 
Their  tent  adjacent,  she  might  weep 

In  this  secluded  spot  alone. 
But  ah  !  it  may  not  be  —  she  sees, 
Emerging  from  the  forest  trees, 

Another  of  that  fearful  race, 
A  hunter  from  his  comrades  strayed, 
His  gaudy  dress  a  chief  betrayed, 

But  strange  to  her  his  face. 


II. 


Kathreen,  in  that  dread  hour  when  flashed 
Before  her  eyes  the  glittering  knife, 

Had  seen  the  chief  whose  strong  arm  dashed 
The  blow  aside  that  sought  her  life, 

And  had  retained  through  her  alarm 

That  scowling  brow,  that  blood-red  plume, 


ENSENORE.  51 

That  braceleted  and  brawny  arm 

Averting  her  descending  doom  ; 
But  many  a  day  had  passed,  and  yet 
The  maid  and  chieftain  had  not  met ; 
Though  well  she  guessed  that  on  his  breath 
Would  hang  her  doom,  of  life  or  death  ; 
That  his  return  —  or  soon  or  late  — 
Would  be  decisive  of  her  fate, 
And  by  the  fiery  plume  that  now 
Waved  o'er  that  dark  and  lofty  brow, 
She  guessed  —  her  soul  with  horror  rife  — 
The  Sachem  this,  who  saved  her  life. 


III. 


Nor  were  her  torturing  fears  allayed, 
When,  distant  far,  a  pause  he  made, 
And  bending  to  the  earth  his  knee, 
A  token  mute  of  amity, 
With  hands  ungauntleted  he  grasped, 

And  backward  bent  his  bow  of  oak, 
Its  parent  tree,  had  it  been  clasped, 

With  such  a  force,  had  well  nigh  broke  ! 
Answering  the  loud  report  that  rung, 

A  thousand  echoes  seemed  to  wake, 


52  ENSENORE. 

While,  rising  to  his  feet,  he  flung 
The  fragments  midway  o'er  the  lake. 


IV. 


Now  with  slow  step  he  comes  more  near, 

And  ever  turns  his  cautious  eye, 
Pauses  that  huntsman  bold  through  fear 

Some  game  unseen  would  pass  him  by? 
Trembling  Kathreen  stands  on  the  shore  ; 

She  would  —  but  whither  shall  she  fly  ? 
Oh  that  her  earthly  ills  were  o'er  ! 

She  only  prays  the  boon  to  die. 
He  pauses  —  speaks — "  Kathreen  !  Kathreen  !" 

She  does  not  hear  —  her  streaming  eyes 
See  but  that  savage  face  and  mien, 

Then  with  new  strength  she  turns  and  flies. 
"  Kathreen  !  Kathreen  !  oh  stay,  love,  stay, 

'  T  is  I  that  calls"  —  cried  EISSEXORE. 
In  vain !  less  fleet  at  close  of  day, 
The  eagle  on  his  mountain  way, 
When  hastening  homeward  with  his  prey, 

That  maid  is  seen  no  more. 


ENSENORE.  53 


V. 


Oh  that  he  could  pursue  her  flight, 
Nor  add  new  terrors  to  her  fright ; 
That  dread  disguise!  that  painted  face  ! 
Oh  how  he  cursed  that  hated  race  ! 
How  fast  his  maddened  pulses  play  ! 
He  dare  not  go  —  he  cannot  stay  ; 
With  burning  brain  and  sickening  fears, 
He  shouts  again,  but  only  hears 
The  elfin  Echo  mock  his  cry, 
"  Oh,  love,  return,  'tis  I  —  'tis  I." 


VI. 


Back  to  the  camp  the  maid  has  fled, 
The  hunter  to  the  chase  returned, 

Where,  ere  the  summer's  day  had  sped, 
A  name  for  daring  high  he  earned  ; 

None  a  less  erring  bow  could  bend, 

Or  surer  aim,  or  farther  send 

The  whizzing  shaft  —  none  fleeter  chase 

The  elk  upon  his  mountain  race ; 


54  ENSKNORR. 

And  much  his  comrades  rough  admire 
His  bearing  bold,  his  gay  attire, 
And  in  their  rude  salutes  expressed 
The  praises  due  the  stranger  guest. 


VII. 

The  sun  is  rolling  down  the  sky, 
The  evening  breeze  is  floating  by  ; 
Hushed  are  the  notes  of  forest  bird, 
The  whip-po-will  alone  is  heard, 
Sending  her  plaintive  voice  afar, 
Upon  the  silent  evening  air  ; 
And  night  has  called  the  warriors  back 
From  panther  chase,  and  wild  deer  track  ; 
And  in  their  tent,  each  man  repeats 
The  story  of  his  hunting  feats, 
While  all  agree,  no  trophies  bore 
Compare  to  those  of  ENSENORE. 

VIII. 


As  some  lone  rose  by  summer  blast, 
Uptorn  and  in  the  desert  cast, 


ENSENORE, 


Whose  fading  beauties  still  are  fair, 
Whose  fragrance  freights  the  forest  air — 
So  mid  that  dusky  horde,  Kathreen, 
Pale,  wretched,  and  forlorn  was  seen  ; 
Yet,  on  surrounding  darkness  thrown, 
Her  charms  with  dazzling  radiance  shone, 
And  to  her  lover's  watchful  eye 

She  seemed  a  being  all  divine, 
One  star  upon  a  clouded  sky, 

One  sunbeam  in  Siberian  mine. 


IX. 


Her  trembling  eye  in  terror  viewed 
The  trophies  o'er  the  tent-floor  strewed, 
The  savage  panther's  gory  head, 
The  gentle  deer  yet  scarcely  dead, 
The  catamount  with  glaring  eye, 

That  frowned  defiance  e'en  in  death, 
The  hapless  squirrel  bleeding  nigh 

And  struggling  with  its  failing  breath. 
Unwonted  sights  and  sounds  were  these 
To  maiden  nurtured  at  her  ease, 
Within  a  home  with  pleasures  rife, 
And  all  the  luxuries  of  life, 


56  ENSENORE. 

And  when,  from  the  revolting  view, 
Kathreen  her  saddened  eye  withdrew, 
From  underneath  the  downcast  lid, 
The  silvery  tears  successive  slid, 
And  glistened  on  her  cheek  of  snow, 
With  all  the  eloquence  of  wo. 


X. 


She  had  not  doubted  that  the  chief 

With  crimson  plume  and  beaded  belt, 
Who,  as  in  mockery  of  her  grief, 

Upon  the  pebbled  beach  had  knelt, 
Was  he,  for  whom  —  a  destined  wife  — 
Had  been  preserved  her  hapless  life  ; 
And  when  she  heard  the  boisterous  mirth, 
To  which  the  maddening  bowl  gave  birth,84 
As,  seated  round  the  festive  board, 
Rudely,  but  plentifully  stored, 
The  dusky  warriors  threw  aside 
Their  air  of  cold  and  cautious  pride, 
With  hasty  glance,  the  captive  maid 
Their  dark  and  giant  frames  surveyed, 
Seeking  the  object  of  her  fear, 
And  dreading  she  should  find  him  near. 


ENSENORE.  57 


XI. 


Nor  sought  she  long  —  the  warrior's  sash 

Was  glistening  almost  at  her  side, 
She  saw  his  dark  eyes  haughty  flash, 

That  seemed  to  speak  of  power  and  pride, 
And  heard  his  voice  —  strange  that  its  tone, 
Uttering  a  language  all  unknown, 
Should  summon,  like  a  passing  dream, 

The  memory  of  her  hours  of  mirth, 
The  murm'ring  of  the  mountain  stream, 

The  joys  of  the  paternal  hearth  ; 
Rapid  and  wild  and  undefined, 

The  mental  panorama  passed, 
Gilding  the  clouds  that  o'er  her  mind, 

Their  dark  and  fearful  shadows  cast. 


XII. 

The  feast  went  on  and  some  relief, 
The  wretched  maiden  felt,  that  she 

Remained  unnoticed  by  the  chief, 
Amid  the  growing  revelry  ; 
8 


58  ENSENORE. 

But  when  she  marked  his  courteous  air, 
Tow'rd  all  his  savage  comrades  there, 
She  doubted  whether  this  could  be 

That  chieftain  known  so  well  to  fame, 
That  even  in  her  infancy, 

She  trembled  at  his  name  ; 
Nor  doubted  long — for  even  then, 
Followed  by  four  athletic  men, 
The  Sachem  entered  at  the  door 
And  crossed  with  stately  step  the  floor. 


XIII. 

Two  hearts  beat  wildly  at  that  sight; 
Kathreen  turned  pale  with  new  affright, 
And  ENSENORE —  when  his  first  view 

Told  him  the  Eagle-Eye  was  near, 
'  T  was  well  his  artificial  hue 

Was  fixed  beyond  the  reach  of  fear ; 
'  T  was  but  a  moment  —  he  became 

Himself  again  at  second  breath, 
Remembering  that  he  played  a  game, 

Where  one  false  move  were  certain  death. 
Too  well  he  knew  each  Indian  trait, 

To  show  one  symptom  of  surprise, 


ENSENORE.  59 

And  seeming  still  with  drink  elate, 

He  quietly  withdrew  his  eyes, 
Called  for  the  bowl,  with  careless  laugh, 
And  quaffed — or  seemed  at  least  to  quaff. 


XIV. 


Meanwhile  the  chief,  in  silent  pride, 
Glanced  at  the  revellers  at  his  side, 
A  moment  bent  his  flashing  eye 
Upon  the  maiden  trembling  nigh, 
And,  unaddressed,  addressing  none, 
Seated  himself,  apart,  alone, 
Then  fired  his  favorite  calumet, 

And  seemed  unconscious  of  the  world, 
As  round  his  lengthened  locks  of  jet25 

The  fragrant  wreaths  in  silence  curled. 

XV. 

An  Indian  chieftain  is  content 
His  valor  on  his  foes  to  vent ; 
He  does  not  seek  in  awe  to  hold, 
His  kinsmen  and  his  clansmen  bold ; 


60  ENSENORE. 

No  abject  fear  for  him  they  feel 
Nor  know  the  courtly  art  to  kneel ; 
And  if,  upon  the  warrior's  cheer 

A  slight  restraint  his  presence  threw, 
It  was  not  from  a  servile  fear, 

But  from  respect,  the  feeling  grew. 


XVI. 

At  length  the  stern  and  stalwart  chief 

In  quiet  dignity  arose, 
And  in  emphatic  tones  and  brief, 

Told  of  encounter  with  his  foes, 
The  daring  of  his  little  band, 
The  willing  heart,  the  ready  hand, 
The  charging  shout,  the  fatal  blow, 
The  victory  and  the  dying  foe  ; 
Then  pointed  with  an  Indian's  pride 
To  scalps,  yet  reeking  at  his  side, 
And  counted,  with  a  miser's  care, 
To  see  that  each  red  tuft  was  there. 
All  listened  as  the  warrior  spoke, 

And  with  approving  smiles  replied, 
And  when  he  closed,  loud  shouts  awoke, 

Of  triumph  and  of  martial  pride, 


ENSENORE.  61 


And  scoffs  and  taunts  were  idly  shed 
On  the  mute  relics  of  the  dead. 


XVII. 

Then  as  the  Sachem's  eye  was  seen 

Upon  the  unknown  Brave  to  dwell,26 
Arose  a  youth  of  gentle  mien 

And  soft  and  silver  voice,  to  tell 
The  history  of  the  favored  gnest, 
Who  sought  for  shelter  there  and  rest ; 
And  said  that  mid  their  fair  domain, 

The  pilgrim's  stay  would  be  but  brief, 
Though  he  would  willingly  remain 

To  grace  the  nuptials  of  the  chief. 
"  'T  is  well  —  see  thou  the  banquet  spread," 

The  haughty  Eagle-Eye  replied, 
"  To-morrow's  setting  sun  shall  shed 

Its  beams  upon  the  chieftain's  bride." 

XVIII. 

The  feast  resumed,  bade  fair  to  last 
Until  the  midnight  hour  was  past ; 


62  ENSEXORE. 

For  soon  grew  voluble  each  tongue, 
And  loud  the  tent  with  laughter  rung. 
The  maiden  watched,  with  trembling  eye, 
Their  mirth  and  madness  rising  high, 
And  marvelled  when  she  saw  the  guest, 
More  gay  and  boisterous  than  the  rest, 
Urging  deep  draughts,  while  he  alone 
Seeming  to  drink  the  most,  drank  none. 
She  heard  the  stranger's  voice  grow  loud, 
She  saw  him  rise  amid  the  crowd, 
And  point,  with  exultation  high, 
To  the  red  trophies  hanging  nigh  ; 
But,  while  each  eye  is  fastened  there, 
And  shouts  ring  wildly  through  the  air, 
Why  turns  the  maiden's  cheek  more  pale  ? 
Why  do  her  sight  —  her  senses  fail  ? 


XIX. 

Whence  or  from  whom,  she  could  not  tell, 
But 't  was  a  folded  billet  fell, 

Alighting  at  her  feet ! 
She  held  her  breath  in  very  fear 
The  savages  should  pause  to  hear 

Her  heart's  tumultuous  beat. 


ENSENORE.  63 

But  by  each  dark  and  scowling  brow, 
Far  other  thoughts  employ  them  now  ; 
They,  by  their  guest's  wild  speech  enchained, 
All  heedless  of  the  maid  remained, 
Who,  unobserved,  the  billet  gained, 
And,  by  a  taper's  wavering  beams, 
Perused  —  still  fearful  lest  she  dreams. 
One  glance  sufficed  that  note  to  scan, 
Few  were  its  words  —  and  thus  they  ran  ; 
"  At  midnight  —  on  Owasco's  shore, 
The  stranger  chieftain  —  ENSENORE." 


XX. 

The  wild-bird  drops  his  merry  wings, 

And  falls,  unfluttering,  on  the  green, 
When  the  sure  rifle  'neath  him  rings, 

Less  quickly  far  than  fell  Kathreen. 
Slight  help  for  her,  the  swooned,  is  found  ; 
The  warriors,  wondering,  press  around. 
And  none,  of  all  that  stoic  race, 
Who  gaze  on  her  seraphic  face, 
Pay  less  regard,  show  less  concern, 
Than  that  dark  stranger,  proud  and  stern  ; 


64  ENSENORE. 

Yet,  with  quick  eye,  marked  ENSENORE, 
Where  fell  the  note  upon  the  floor, 
And,  seizing  it  with  feigned  surprise, 
Displayed  it  to  their  wondering  eyes, 
As,  doubtless,  holding  some  strange  charm,21 
Potent,  perhaps,  to  work  such  harm, 
Which,  of  her  sad  existence  tired, 
The  maid  had  gazed  on,  and  expired. 


XXI. 

But  ah  !  what  power  in  pen  or  tongue 
To  tell  the  agony  that  wrung 

The  lovers  gen'rous  heart, 
Compelled  to  see  with  reckless  air, 
His  loved,  all  pale  and  lifeless  there 

Nor  dare  his  aid  impart. 
Yet  all  the  woes  of  earth  combined, 

The  prospect  of  an  age  of  pain, 
All  that  e'en  savage  skill  could  find 

Of  torture  would  have  frowned  in  vain 
To  hold  him  back — if  he,  alone, 
Might  for  the  fatal  act  atone. 


ENSENORE.  65 


XXII. 


Pure  as  the  first  pale  tints  of  day, 
And  faintly  delicate  as  they, 
At  length  the  coming  color  seeks  ' 
The  surface  of  her  snowy  cheeks. 
A  tremor  o'er  her  pale  lips  flies, 
The  blue-veined  eye-lids  slowly  rise, 
And,  as  returning  memory  brought 
The  re-united  links  of  thought, 
Vanished  at  once  each  terror-trace, 
And  sudden  joy  suffused  her  face. 


XXIII. 

Long  had  the  maiden's  guileless  breast, 

Within  its  secret  depths  concealed 
One  pure  affection,  unconfessed, 

And  scarcely  to  herself  revealed  ; 
And  he,  to  whom  her  gentle  heart 

Had  yielded  up  its  priceless  worth, 
That  love,  which  like  the  flowers  that  start 

Unnoticed,  from  the  vernal  earth, 
9 


66  KNSENORE. 

Blooms  but  more  beautcously  alone, 
Uncalled,  uncherished  and  unknown  ; 
He,  who  had  mingled  with  each  theme 
Of  waking  thought,  or  midnight  dream, 
He  stood  before  her  —  come  to  save 
Or  share  with  her  a  captive's  grave. 
And  she  was  loved  —  the  thought  of  this, 

In  spite  of  fear  —  in  danger's  spite, 
Poured  o'er  her  heart  a  flood  of  bliss, 

Of  deep  and  unalloyed  delight ; 
For,  oh  !  if  any  pain  hath  power 
Upon  the  soul,  in  such  an  hour — 
If  any  grief  there  be,  to  chill 
The  heart's  first  joy,  the  rapture-thrill, 
When  love  —  the  growth  of  growing  years, 
Attested  by  a  thousand  tears, 
Which  has,  with  flame  unfaltering  burned, 

Though  fanned  by  Hope's  expiring  breath- 
Is  first  acknowledged  and  returned, 
It  must  be  something  more  than  Death. 


ENSENORE. 


XXIV. 

Their  eyes  a  passing  moment  meet 
And  linger  in  communion  sweet ; 
This  silent  language  of  the  soul, 
Could  none  construe  and  none  control ; 
It  told  in  her  blue  brilliant  eye, 
Of  strong  affection  rising  high, 

All  sense  of  fear  and  pain  above, 
In  his  —  the  answering  light  that  woke 
With  an  electric  radiance,  spoke 

The  deathless  energy  of  love. 

XXV. 

And  who  shall  blame  the  hapless  maid, 

If,  after  long  and  deep  distress, 
When  this  first  radiant  hope  of  aid 

Dawned  brightly  on  her  wretchedness, 
Forgetful  of  the  foes  who  frowned 
In  sullen  silence  still  around, 
And  thinking  only  of  that  youth, 
The  love,  the  constancy  and  truth, 


68  ENSENORE. 

Which  led  him  to  desert  his  home, 

And  take  his  lone  and  fearful  way 
Through  wilds  where  savage  monsters  roam, 

And  men  more  savage  still  than  they ; 
Which  gave  him  fortitude  to  brave 
For  her,  the  desert  and  the  wave  ; 
For  her  to  stand,  that  very  hour, 
Within  his  deadliest  foemen's  power  ; 
Unconscious  that  to  other's  ears 

A  talismanic  charm  it  bore, 
She  turned  away,  with  falling  tears, 

And  breathed  the  name  of  ENSENORE  ! 


XXVI. 


'T  was  lightly  spoken  —  but 't  was  heard  ! 
A  dozen  warriors  at  the  word 
Started,  like  lightning,  from  the  ground 
And  gazed,  with  flashing  eyes,  around  ; 
While  on  their  swarthy  features  glow 

Alternate  looks  of  hate  and  fear, 
As  if  they  thought  to  see  their  foe, 

With  retribution  armed,  appear. 


ENSENORE.  69 

No  marvel  if  that  name  they  knew, 
For  with  the  firm  and  faithful  few 
Who  had,  upon  that  night  of  blood, 
Awhile  their  whelming  hosts  withstood, 
That  name  had  been  the  rallying  cry 
Which,  echoing  to  the  vaulted  sky, 

Sent  sudden  terror  through  their  band  ; 
And  many  a  Huron  mother  wept 
For  the  returnless  ones,  who  slept, 

Fallen  beneath  his  single  hand. 


XXVII. 


But  not  on  him,  their  courteous  guest, 

A  moment  did  suspicion  rest; 

Or  if  it  did,  it  was  forgot, 

When,  boldly  walking  to  the  spot, 

He  coolly  asked  what  signs  of  harm 

They  were  that  seemed  to  give  alarm, 

And  offered,  as  their  scout,  to  go 

If  aught  they  feared  of  lurking  foe. 

And  when,  at  length,  their  fears  suppressed, 

They,  one  by  one,  retired  to  rest, 


70  KNSENORK. 

He  passed  near  where  the  maiden  lay, 

And,  looking  still  another  way, 

"  Sleep  not,  Kathreen  ! "  —  he  whispered  low, 

Then  threw  himself  upon  the  gronnd, 
And,  far  as  outward  sign  could  show, 

None  slept  more  suddenly  or  sound. 


ENSENORE 


PART    FOURTH. 


ENSENORE, 


PART     FOURTH 


I. 


'T  WAS  midnight  —  and  the  clouded  sky 

O'er-canopied  that  darkened  tent, 
The  bird  of  night  flew  wildly  by, 

The  forest  'neath  the  blast  was  bent ; 
Not  darker,  deeper  is  the  gloom 
That  dwells  within  the  rayless  tomb  ; 
Came  from  the  lake  the  sullen  roar 
Of  billows  beating  on  the  shore, 
And,  as  the  frequent  lightning  threw 

A  sudden  glory  o'er  the  scene, 
The  opposing  forests  rose  to  view, 

And  all  the  watery  waste  between, 
10 


74  ENSENORE. 

Where  crested  waves  each  other  chase, 
Like  snowy  coursers  on  the  race. 


II. 


Beyond  his  hopes,  auspicious  fate 

Thus  far  had  favored  E.NSKISORE, 
Worn  out  by  revel  long  and  late, 

The  warriors  slept  upon  the  floor, 
And  through  the  tent,  a  taper  shed 

But  just  enough  of  light  to  show 
Where,  safe,  the  fugitives  might  tread, 

Nor  fear  to  rouse  a  sleeping  foe  ; 
But  words  are  powerless  to  portray 

The  ecstacy  of  hope  and  fear 
Which  o'er  the  maiden's  breast  held  sway, 

Alternate,  as  the  hour  drew  near  ; 
And  seemed  her  throbbing  heart  to  burst 

When  ENSENORE'S  low  voice  she  heard, 
Bidding  her  make  the  trial  first, 

That  if  the  dreaming  sentinel  stirred, 
His  ready  dagger  might  secure 
A  sleep  for  him  that  should  endure. 


ENSENORK.  75 


III. 


But  watchful  ears  they  need,  I  ween, 
Who  hear  thy  fairy  feet,  Kathreen  ! 
The  summer's  dew  or  winter's  flake, 
Or  moonbeams  falling  on  the  lake 
As  soon  the  slumberer's  rest  might  break. 

•  •••.« 

White  as  the  snowy  robe  she  wore, 
With  spirit-step  she  treads  the  floor, 
And  glides,  unchallenged,  through  the  door. 


IV. 


Upon  the  beach  the  maiden  stood, 
Where  wildly  dashed  the  angry  flood, 
And  listened  long  in  vain  to  hear 
The  sound  of  footsteps  coming  near  ; 
Alone  the  screech  of  boding  owl 

Is  heard  from  the  surrounding  trees, 
Or  from  afar  <  the  wolf's  long  howl' 

Borne  onward  with  the  passing  breeze. 


76  ENSENORE. 

Slowly  the  lagging  moments  wear, 

Fraught  with  suspense  and  growing  pain, 

Still  puts  she  back  her  clustering  hair 
And  looks  and  listens  still  in  vain. 


V. 


Faintly  she  calls  —  her  breath  is  lost 
Mid  dash  of  billows  tempest-tost, 
But  she  is  answered  !  one  long  cry 
From  countless  voices  rends  the  sky ! 
One  warrior  dashes  wildly  by, 
And  calls  on  her,  in  tones  that  wake 
The  echoes  o'er  that  boisterous  lake  ; 
'  T  is  he,  discovered  and  pursued, 
In  search  of  whom  the  pathless  wood 
Is  filled  with  flitting  lights  that  glare, 
Like  spectres  through  the  midnight  air 
He  finds,  he  clasps  her  in  his  arms, 
And  though  those  demon -like  alarms 
Ring  loud  and  louder  in  his  ear, 
The  lights  grow  brighter,  come  more  near, 
They  are  not  heard,  they  are  not  seen  ; 
He  clasps  his  own,  loved,  lost  Kathreen. 


ENSENORE.  77 


VI. 


One  moment,  and  that  trance  is  past, 
That  dream  of  bliss — perhaps  his  last : 
Bearing  the  maid  within  his  arms, 
What  way  he  hears  the  least  alarms, 

Fleet  as  the  hunted  elk  he  flew, 
Toward  a  cove,  where,  yesternight, 
Concealed  in  readiness  for  flight, 

He  moored  his  light  canoe. 
Meanwhile  the  foe  at  random  shot, 
Where'er  they  knew  their  friends  were  not, 
And  hurtling  arrows  round  him  rained, 
Yet,  all  unharmed,  the  cove  he  gained, 
Sought  for  his  faithful  bark  —  and  found 
The  withe  with  which  that  bark  was  bound  ! 
Like  summer  friend,  in  hour  of  need, 
That  boat,  which  had  with  pride  and  speed, 
Across  the  sunny  waters  sailed, 
Now,  when  its  aid  were  safety,  failed. 
It  rides  the  waves,  afar  from  land, 
Cut  loose  by  some  designing  hand, 
Or  by  the  billows  swell  alone, 
It  matters  not  —  his  boat  is  gone. 


78 


ENSENORK. 


VII. 


Well  may  his  spirit  falter  now, 
And  dark  despair  o'ershade  his  brow  ; 
His  heart  beats  high  with  new  alarm  ; 
Kathreen  hangs  senseless  on  his  arm  ; 
Before  him  rolls  the  blackened  wave, 
Behind,  those  human  blood-hounds  rave, 
And  hark !  the  very  vault  of  Heaven, 
With  one  loud  cry  of  hate  is  riven, 
So  earthless  and  so  dread  a  yell, 
By  demons,  from  their  home  in  hell, 
He  thought  had  never  been  given. 


VIII. 

Yet,  for  a  passing  moment,  play 

Hope's  meteor-lights  upon  his  soul  ; 
One  half  mile  hence,  within  a  bay, 
While  passing  in  the  chase  that  day, 
A  fleet  of  birchen  barges  lay, 

On  the  blue  waves  he  saw  them  roll. 


ENSENORE. 

Now  if  he  can  that  harbor  gain, 
Alas  !  that  hope  is  also  vain, 
Unnumbered  torches  shed  their  light, 

Flitting,  like  fire-flies,  o'er  the  bay, 
And  there,  to  intercept  his  flight, 

A  band  of  well  armed  warriors  stay, 
While  others  scour  both  wood  and  shore  ; 
Now  Heaven  help  lost  ENSENORE  ! 


IX. 


He  kneels  beside  the  dashing  wave, 

Kathreen's  death-colored  face  to  lave, 

And,  as  her  slowly  opening  eyes, 

Beaming  with  terror  and  surprise, 

Appeal  to  Heaven's  protecting  power 

For  succor  in  that  fearful  hour, 

He  hurries  briefly  to  relate 

Their  sad  extremity  of  fate, 

And,  pointing  to  the  blackened  sea, 

"  Kathreen  !  I  live  or  die  with  thee, 

One  hope  remains  !  't  is  slight  —  't  is  frail  - 

Speedy  our  fate,  if  that  should  fail ; 

Look,  by  the  lightnings  lengthened  blaze, 

Where,  on  the  crested  billows,  plays 


79 


80  ENSENORE. 

My  little  bark  ;  say,  durst  thou  brave 
With  me,  the  tempest  and  the  wave  ?" 
"  I  dare  !"  her  murmuring  voice  replied, 
And  onward,  in  the  swelling  tide, 
Unpausing  rushes  ENSENORE, 
With  one  arm  binding  to  his  side 

The  frail  and  trembling  form  he  bore. 


X. 


Well  serves  him  now  each  feat  of  skill, 
To  pause,  and  float,  or  turn  at  will, 
For  pastime  learned  in  earlier  day, 
When  with  the  mountain  waves  at  play  ; 
But  better  serves  his  vigorous  arm, 

His  daring  and  his  dauntless  mind, 
Which,  not  the  shouts  of  wild  alarm 

That  still  came  floating  on  the  wind. 

Could  for  a  moment  quell, 
Though  o'er  his  spirit  bold  at  length, 
When  in  the  waters  failed  his  strength, 

Despair's  dark  shadow  fell : 
But  even  then,  with  failing  eye, 
He  sees  his  bark  careering  nigh, 
That  sight  revives  his  powers  —  and  now, 
His  hand  is  laid  upon  its  prow  ! 


ENSENORE.  81 


XL 


Brief  breathing  spell  to  him  is  given, 

And  hurried  thanks  ascend  to  Heaven, 

For  even  now  upon  the  shore, 

Where  they  had  stood  short  space  before, 

A  cloud  of  savages,  they  view, 

Searching  for  ENSENORE'S  canoe  ; 

In  vain  they  search  the  shore,  but  hark  ! 

They  spy  upon  the  wave,  the  bark  ; 

Then  through  the  forest,  wild  and  high 

Rang  forth  their  fearful  battle  cry, 

And  the  rude  breeze  that  hurried  by, 

Onward,  with  rapid  pinion,  bore 

The  gathering  cry  of  "  ENSENORE  !" 

While  echo  from  her  far  retreats, 

The  fearful  signal  sound  repeats. 


XII. 


As  rush  upon  their  game,  the  pack 
When  loosened  first  upon  the  track, 
11 


ENSENORE. 


So,  tow'rd  their  guarded  harbor  flew 
Along  the  beach  that  vengeful  crew, 
And  soon,  well-manned,  each  bark  canoe 

Across  the  billow  wild  is  dancing, 
While,  like  the  mystic  lights  that  glare 
At  midnight,  in  the  churchyard  air, 

The  torches  o'er  the  waves  are  glancing. 


XIII. 

The  light,  that  o'er  the  landscape  flies, 
When  clouds  autumnal  skim  the  skies, 
Speeds  not,  as  in  that  hour  of  dread, 
Young  ENSENORE'S  lone  vessel  sped  ; 
The  flitting  shades,  that  ever  chase 
Those  sunbeams  o'er  the  landscape's  face, 
Fly  not,  as  each  adverse  canoe 
Across  the  foaming  billows  flew. 


XIV. 

Southward,  toward  the  Owasco's  source, 
Kept  ENSEISORE  his  rapid  course, 


ENSENORE.  83 

And  ever,  as  the  frequent  flash 

Revealed  the  fugitives  to  view, 
Commingling  with  the  thunder's  crash, 

Rang  long  and  loud  the  death-halloo. 
Such  shouts  the  native  warriors  use 
Their  foe  to  frighten  or  confuse  ; 
But  cool  of  mind,  and  strong  of  limb, 
No  artifices  baffle  him  ; 
One  powerful  arm  his  boat  propelled,28 
And  one  the  trembling  maiden  held ; 
No  word  was  said  —  no  glance  was  given  — 
In  silence  rose  her  prayers  to  Heaven  ; 
While,  floating  free  and  unconfined, 
Streamed  her  long  tresses  on  the  wind. 


XV. 

Though  for  a  while  his  vessel  gained, 
Such  vantage  might  not  be  maintained 

By  his  unaided  oar  ; 
And  though, 'beyond  his  foemen's  view, 
'T  were  vain  to  hold  his  course  he  knew, 

And  vain  to  seek  the  shore. 
Skilled  to  discern  the  faintest  trail 
Of  human  step  on  sand  or  sod, 


84  ENSEKORE. 

When  morning's  light  should  flood  the  vale, 
Full  well  he  knew  they  would  not  fail 

To  strike  the  path  he  trod. 
On  every  side  was  danger  near, 
Yet  yielded  not  the  youth  to  fear, 
But,  when  the  space  that  lay  between 
Was  such  that  nothing  might  be  seen, 
No  sound  could  reach  their  eager  ear  ; 
With  quick  and  well-directed  oar, 

He  seeks  the  centre  of  the  lake, 
Turns  his  light  bark,  and  dashing  o'er 

The  waves  that  round  his  vessel  break, 
Like  fox  that  doubles  on  his  track, 
With  lightning-speed  he  hurries  back, 
While  the  dim  lights  that  glisten  far, 

Trembling  beneath  the  breeze's  breath, 
To  him,  are  like  the  beacon-star, 

That  bids  the  sailor  shun  his  death. 


XVI. 

With  silent  but  with  rapid  stroke, 
The  muffled  oar  the  waters  broke, 
Though  slight  had  been  the  need  of  fear, 
Of  any,  save  the  practised  ear 


ENSENORE.  85 

Of  Indian  on  the  chase, 
And  little  peril  from  the  sight 
Of  e'en  an  Indian  eye  that  night, 
Save  when  the  red  electric  light 

Illumed  the  waters  face. 
Now  near  and  nearer  comes  the  foe, 

A  furlong  scarcely  lies  between, 
And  the  wild-waving  torches  throw 

A  lurid  light  upon  the  scene. 
More  near  !  he  sees  each  scowling  brow  ! 
"  Oh  heaven  !  withhold  thy  lightnings  now  !" 
With  throbbing  heart  —  suspended  breath 
And  face  as  colorless  as  death, 
His  pale  lips  painfully  compressed, 
His  oar  upraised  and  held  at  rest, 
The  maiden  trembling  on  his  breast, 
Silent  he  sat,  with  flashing  eye, 
And  watched  their  dark  forms  flitting  by, 
And  heard,  in  tones  of  muttered  ire, 
Himself  condemned  to  funeral  pyre. 
So  rapidly  they  glided  past, 
He  breathed  not  till  he  saw  the  last  — 
Then  dropped  his  oar  into  the  wave 
And  to  his  boat  new  impulse  gave. 


86  ENSENORE. 


XVII. 

Though  every  breath  augments  the  space 

Between  them  and  their  foemen  now, 
Yet  still  unslackened  is  the  race 

Of  that  true  bark,  and  still  her  prow 
Points  outward  to  the  central  wave, 
And  where  the  proudest  billows  rave, 
Leaps,  laughing,  o'er  their  foaming  crest, 
At  home  amid  their  wild  unrest ; 
Nor  till  the  early  beams  of  day 
Through  the  far  east  had  found  their  way, 
They  paused,  where  at  the  lake's  extreme, 
Its  waters  dwindle  to  a  stream. 
And  there,  beneath  the  waters  blue, 
Far  in  the  depths,  his  light  canoe, 
Young  EISSENORE  concealed  from  view. 


XVIII. 

And  there  in  Nature's  temple  wide, 
Where  Nature's  priests  alone  preside, 
Whose  carpet  is  the  velvet  sod, 


ENSENORE. 


Whose  dome,  the  glittering  arch  that  spans 
The  vast  creation  of  His  hands, 

Whose  light  the  smile  of  God  ; 
While  from  the  fragrant  flowers,  arise 
Their  morning  incense  to  the  skies, 
To  Him  who  shields  —  that  pair  impart 
The  grateful  homage  of  the  heart ; 
And  the  bright  stream,  that  murmurs  by, 
The  winds  that  through  the  forest  fly, 
The  birds  whose  matin  carol  gave 
Its  treble  to  the  roaring  wave, 
Together,  in  their  varying  ways, 
Respond  unto  their  Maker's  praise. 


XIX. 


The  storm  had  past  —  the  clouds  were  gone, 
And  the  pale  stars  that  o'er  them  shone, 
Still  held  with  the  unfolding  day 
O'er  the  clear  sky  an  equal  sway, 
When  through  the  dark  and  silent  wood, 
Their  path  of  peril,  they  pursued. 
What  days  of  toil  —  what  nights  of  fear, 
Made  up  their  long  and  lone  career, 


88  ENSENORE. 

What  tears  of  gratitude  were  shed, 
What  vows  of  love  to  Heaven  were  sped, 
What  dangers  threatened  —  woes  befell, 
'Twere  tedious  now  and  vain  to  tell. 


XX. 

Suffice,  that  ere  the  seventh  sun, 
His  cloud-pavilioned  goal  had  won, 
The  loved  —  the  lost  —  the  rescued  now, 
With  freshened  cheek  and  sunny  brow, 
Beheld  a  father's  smiling  face, 
Returned  a  father's  fond  embrace, 
Nor  tried  with  words  her  bliss  to  speak, 

When,  with  a  joy  that  verged  on  Heaven, 
She  kissed  from  off  a  mother's  cheek, 

The  tears  by  speechless  rapture  given. 

XXI. 

Suffice  that  when  before  the  shrine 

Where  hands  are  joined,  when  hearts  combine, 

In  ENSENORE'S  dark  chestnut  hair 

That  curled  around  his  forehead  fair, 


ENSENORE.  89 

In  his  complexion  clear  and  bright, 
His  dark  eye's  soft  and  gentle  light, 
And  in  his  mild  yet  manly  face, 
Kathreen  in  vain  essayed  to  trace 
Some  semblance  of  that  chieftain  red, 

From  whom  scarce  three  brief  weeks  before, 
With  trembling  footsteps,  she  had  fled 

Upon  Owasco's  distant  shore. 


12 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1. 
By  that  proud  mart.     P.  9. 

THE  city  of  Utica,  near  the  source  of  the  Mohawk,  is  situated 
within  a  few  miles  of  "  that  bloody  field  in  which  Herkimer  fell." 

NOTE  2. 
Wild  Astorogan's  hills  arise.     P.  10. 

Astorogan  is  the  Indian  name  for  some  one  of  the  many  masses 
of  rocks,  in  the  vicinity  of  what  is  now  the  romantic  village  of 
Little  Falls,  a  spot,  which  for  wild  and  magnificent  scenery,  is 
without  a  parallel  throughout  the  whole  valley  of  the  Mohawk. 

NOTE  3. 
Foremost  of  w7tom,  young  Ensenorc.     P.  14. 

Ensenore  is  an  Indian  name.  It  belonged  to  a  native  chief 
tain  of  Virginia,  of  whom  Mr.  Thatcher  says,  that  "he  was  the 
best  friend,  next  to  Granganimo,  whom  the  English  had  ever 
found  among  the  natives."  It  is,  perhaps,  unnecessary  to  say, 
that  it  is  adopted  here,  rather  for  its  singular  euphony,  than  for 
any  other  cause,  though  the  author  considers  it  not  a  violent 
presumption  to  suppose  that  the  name  of  so  celebrated  a  chief, 
friendly  to  the  Europeans,  would  become  engrafted  upon  their 
own  less  elegant  patronymics,  and  perpetuated  among  their 
children. 

NOTE  4. 

Where  Trenton's  wild  and  wizard  stream.     P.  22. 
The  West  Canada  Creek,  in  which  are  the  celebrated  Falls 


94  NOTES. 

of  Trenton,  connects  with  the  Mohawk,  near  the  beautiful  vil 
lage  of  Herkimer.  The  river,  a  little  west  of  this  place,  takes 
a  north-westerly  turn,  and  the  ancient  trail  of  the  Iroquois,  from 
the  western  part  of  the  State,  struck  the  river  somewhere  near 
this  point.  The  author  has  this  information  from  a  gentleman, 
as  celebrated  for  his  knowledge  of  Indian  history  and  habits,  as 
for  his  kindness  and  courtesy  in  communicating  such  information 
to  others. 

NOTE  5. 

Amid  the  seven  fair  lakes,  that  lie 

Like  mirrors  'neath  the  summer  sky.     P.  23. 

There  are  seven  beautiful  lakes  in  the  western  pan  of  the 
State  of  New- York,  varying  from  ten  to  forty  miles  in  length* 
all  of  which  discharge  their  waters  into  the  Ontario,  through 
the  Oswego  river,  to  wit :  the  Cayuga,  Seneca,  Canandaigua, 
Owasco,  Otisco,  Skaneateles,  and  Crooked  Lake. 

NOTE  6. 
What  time  the  Lion  holds  the  Sun.     P.  23. 

The  months  of  July  and  August,  are  supposed  to  have  been 
peculiarly  favorable  for  the  chase,  as  well  as  for  piscatory  sports, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  Seven  Lakes.  It  continues  to  be  a  favor 
able  season  for  the  latter  amusement. 

NOTE  7. 

And  leaving  there  the  river's  side, 

Where  northward  turns  its  lessening  tide.     P.  84. 

See  note  4. 

NOTE  8. 

By  night  the  glittering  stars  above, 
By  day  the  humble  moss  below.     P.  24. 

"  The  polar  star  has  been  very  generally  noticed  by  the  In 
dians,  as  '  the  star  that  never  moves,'  and  this,  when  visible,  is 
always  their  travelling  guide  in  the  night  time.  In  cloudy 


NOTES.  95 

weather,  whether  by  day  or  night,  they  have  astonishingly  sure 
and  speedy  modes  of  ascertaining  directions  and  distances. 
They  will  travel  a  line  to  almost  any  given  point  of  the  compass, 
for  any  given  time,  by  observing  as  they  run,  the  difference  in 
the  moss,  or  in  the  thickness  of  the  bark  on  the  northern  and 
southern  sides  of  the  trees,  together  with  various  other  minute 
circumstances,  which  a  white  man  would  scarcely  notice,  if 
pointed  out  to  him.  Well  may  they  say,  as  they  sometimes  do 
to  white  men,  '  How  can  we  go  wrong,  when  we  know  where  we  are 
going  to  ?'  "  Thatcher. 

NOTE  9. 
Owasctfs  waters  sweetly  slept.     P.  29. 

The  ancient  trail  of  the  Iroquois,  from  the  Mohawk  west 
ward,  led  past  the  northern  extremity  of  this  lake,  and  crossed 
the  outlet  somewhere  within  the  bounds  of  the  present  large  and 
beautiful  village  of  Auburn.  The  author  is  under  obligation  for 
this  piece  of  information,  to  the  same  intelligent  gentleman,  re 
ferred  to  in  Note  4,  who  was  personally  and  familiarly  ac 
quainted  with  many  of  the  head  men  of  the  Five  Nations.  An 
aged  Indian  by  the  name  of  Antonie,  who  was  second  chief  of 
the  Oneidas,  under  the  celebrated  Skenandoah,  informed  him  of 
this  fact,  and  said  that  one  of  their  customary  camping  grounds 
was  near  a  large  elm  tree,  which  is  said  to  be  still  standing  in  the 
highway,  on  the  eastern  line  of  the  village  above  named.  Their 
trail  westward  from  Auburn,  must  have  pursued  pretty  nearly 
the  course  of  the  present  Seneca  turnpike,  as  it  led  over  Cayuga 
lake,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  present  bridge,  where  they  kept  ca 
noes,  or  ferry  boats,  constantly,  for  the  accommodation  of  any 
of  their  people. 

This  was  at  a  later  day  than  the  one  referred  to  in  the  text, 
and  at  a  time  when  the  Iroquois  were  undisputed  sovereigns  of 
the  country. 

NOTE  10. 

A  single  oar  that  boat  propelled.     P.  31. 
The  Indian  canoes  are  sometimes  made  very  small  and  alight, 


96  NOTES. 

and  capable  of  being  propelled  with  extreme  rapidity,  by  means 
of  a  single  oar,  or  scull,  as  it  is  sometimes  termed,  which  is  placed 
in  the  stern. 

NOTE  11. 
With  all  a  Narraghantett'g  pride.     P.  32. 

This  is  not  the  common,  but  is,  I  believe,  the  most  correct 
orthography  of  this  name.  I  follow  Mr.  Thatcher.  The  Nar- 
raghansetts  were  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  the  New-England 
Nations,  and  were  a  remarkably  brave  and  high  spirited  people. 
"  They  were,"  says  Mr.  Thatcher,  "  composed  of  various  small 
tribes,  inhabiting  a  large  part  of  the  territory  which  afterward 
formed  the  colony  of  Rhode  Island.  Their  dominion  extended 
also  over  the  islands  in  the  bay  of  their  own  name." 

NOTE  12. 

The  broidertd  moccasins  that  gave 

A  grace  to  hit  converging  feet.     P.  32. 

The  habit  of  walking  with  the  toes  inclining  inward,  if  not 
universally  prevalent  among  the  aborigines,  is  at  least  so  far  so, 
as  to  render  it  a  national  peculiarity.  Whether  or  not  it  is 
owing  to  any  peculiar  conformation  of  that  part  of  the  anato 
mical  system,  I  am  not  able  to  say.  I  should  suspect  it  to  be  a 
mere  matter  of  custom,  and  practised,  at  the  expense  of  conve 
nience,  taste  and  nature,  for  fashion's  sake  alone,  were  it  not 
that  the  savages  could  hardly  be  supposed,  at  so  early  a  day,  to 
have  exhibited  such  strong  indications  of  an  approach  to  civili 
zation. 

NOTE  13. 
Huron  nor  Ottawa  his  race.     P.  32. 

The  Hurons  and  Ottawas  were  the  savages  who  enacted  the 
dreadful  tragedy  at  Schenectada.  They  were,  of  course,  friendly 
to  the  French  government,  and  it  was  by  such  fearful  means  as 
the  destruction  of  English  settlements,  and  the  massacre  of  their 
inhabitants,  that  the  French  provincial  government  sought  to 


NOTES.  97 

awe  the  Iroquois,  and  bring  them  over  to  their  own  interests. 
Tne  Iroquois,  so  long  as  they  remained  friendly  to  the  English, 
were  a  complete  barrier  to  the  progress  of  the  French  arms,  and 
it  was  supposed  that  they  would  change  their  allegiance,  (or 
rather  their  alliance,  for  they  disclaimed  being  subjects  of  any 
crown,)  when  they  saw  that  the  English  settlements  were  unable 
to  protect  themselves.  Vide  Dunlap's  N.  Y. 

NOTE  14. 
The  Jive  fierce  nations  of  the  North.     P.  32. 

The  Five  Nations,  so  called  by  the  English,  were  the  Mo 
hawks,  Oneidas,  Cayugas,  Onondagas  and  Senecas.  Governor 
Clinton,  in  a  discourse  delivered  before  the  New- York  Histo 
rical  Society,  in  1811,  says:  "  The  Virginian  Indians  gave  them 
the  name  of  Massawomekes  ;  the  Dutch  called  them  Maquas, 
or  Makakuase,  and  the  French,  Iroquois.  Their  appellation  at 
home  was  the  Mingoes,  and  sometimes  the  Aganuschian  or  Uni 
ted  People." 

By  those  whose  knowledge  of  the  aborigines  is  mainly  de 
rived  from  works  of  fiction,  they  will  be  best  recollected  as  the 
Mingoes,  who  were  the  objects  of  such  continual  hatred  and  de 
testation  to  Mr.  Cooper's  Leather-stocking.  It  is  not  a  matter  of 
surprise  that  the  Delawares,  of  whom  Leather-stocking  was  an 
ally,  should  have  hated  the  Iroquois.  They  were  to  the  Five 
Nations,  what  the  sand  is  to  the  whirlwind. 

Governor  Clinton,  in  an  address  delivered  at  Schenectada  in 
1823,  before  the  New- York  Alpha  of  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  So 
ciety,  says :  "  The  alluvial  lands  of  the  river,  rich  as  the  soil 
formed  by  the  overflowings  of  the  Nile,  were  the  principal  resi 
dence  of  that  ferocious  and  martial  race,  the  true  old  heads  of 
the  Iroquois,  a  confederacy  which  carried  terror,  havoc  and 
desolation,  from  the  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
and  which  aspired  to  universal  empire  over  the  savage  nations." 

It  is  presumed,  that  Governor  C.  alludes  here  to  the  Mohawk 
tribe  only,  as  "  that  ferocious  and  martial  race,  the  true  old  heads 
of  the  Iroquois." 

13 


98  NOTES. 

While  on  the  subject  of  this  interesting  people,  it  may  not 
be  amiss  to  quote  the  following,  from  another  distinguished 
source — the  late  Dr.  Samuel  L.  Mitchell,  who,  in  a  discourse  be 
fore  the  same  society  last  named,  in  1881,  says  :  "  The  place  upon 
which  this  city  (Schenectady.)  stands,  furnishes  an  ample  theme 
for  contemplation.  Here  and  in  the  region  situated  to  the  west 
ward,  lived  the  once  formidable  confederacy  of  the  Iroquois,  of 
whom  the  Mohawks  were  the  most  distinguished.  They  appear 
to  have  descended  from  the  Tartars  of  Asia,  and  by  gradual 
approaches  from  the  shores  of  Alaska,  to  have  reached  the  country 
situated  south  of  the  great  lakes.  They  brought  the  com 
plexion,  features  and  manners  of  their  ancestors,  and  even  their 
dogs  are  of  the  Siberian  breed.  They  are  called  Indians,  either 
because  they  resembled  the  inhabitants  of  India,  or  because 
they  were  supposed  to  have  descended  from  India. 

Between  these  ferocious  hordes  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
white  settlers  on  the  other,  the  unfortunate  Delawares,  who 
were  probably  tinctured  with  Malay  blood,  were  beaten  as  metal 
between  the  anvil  and  hammer,  or  broken  to  pieces,  after  the 
manner  of  grain  betwixt  the  mill-stones. 

Yet,  in  this  very  spot,  where  barbarous,  and  even  cannibal 
rites  have  been  performed,  Schenectady  soon  arose,  and  in  less 
than  two  centuries,  has  grown  to  its  present  population  and 
wealth.  Schenectadca,  or  the  pine  wood  landing;  Cohokcsackie, 
or  the  land  of  owls  ;  Senagahat,  or  the  stingy  road  ;  Canajoharie, 
or  the  place  where  the  water  of  the  creek  whirls  like  the  sim 
mering  of  a  cauldron  over  the  fire  ;  Kahohalalea,  the  river  since 
called  Hudson  ;  Tioghdaronde,\.\\e  place  where  rivers  or  streams 
empty  into  others ;  and  Canneoglononitade,  the  river  that  glides 
along  toward  its  precipice  at  the  Cohos ;  are  a  few  of  the  appel 
lations  that  remain." 

According  to  the  late  learned  Mr.  Thatcher,  whose  investi 
gations  and  laborious  researches  into  Indian  history  ought  to 
secure  to  him  the  gratitude  of  the  public,  since  he  is  now  placed 
beyond  the  reach  of  their  reward  in  any  other  shape  :  "  Their 
career  of  victory,  which  began  with  the  fall  of  the  Adirondacks, 
was  destiued  to  be  extended  beyond  all  precedent,  in  the  history 


NOTES.  99 

of  the  Indian  tribes.  They  exterminated  the  Eries  or  Erigas, 
once  living  on  the  south  side  of  the  lake  of  their  own  name. 
They  nearly  destroyed  the  powerful  Anderstes  and  the  Chou- 
anons  or  Showanons.  They  drove  back  the  Hurons  and  Otta- 
was  among  the  Sioux  of  the  Upper  Mississippi,  where  they 
separated  themselves  into  bands,  "  proclaiming,  wherever  they 
went,  the  terror  of  the  Iroquois."  The  Illinois  on  the  west  also 
were  subdued,  with  the  Miamies  and  the  Shawanese.  The 
Niperceneans  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  fled  to  Hudson's  Bay  to 
avoid  their  fury.  "  The  borders  of  the  Ontaonis,"  says  an  his 
torian,  "  which  were  long  thickly  peopled,  became  almost  de 
serted."  The  Mohawk  was  a  name  of  terror  to  the  farthest 
tribes  of  New-England,  and  though  but  one  of  that  formidable 
people  should  appear  for  a  moment  on  the  hills  of  the  Connec 
ticut  or  Massachusetts,  the  villages  below  would  be  in  an  uproar 
of  confusion  and  fear.  Finally,  they  conquered  the  tribe  of 
Virginia,  west  of  the  Alleghanies,  and  warred  against  the  Ca- 
tawbas,  Cherokees,  and  most  of  the  nations  of  the  south. 

These  tribes,  of  course,  had  no  part  in  the  massacre  at  Sche- 
nectadu.  Says  governor  Clinton  ,"  the  sympathizing  and  pathetic 
speech  of  the  faithful  Mohawks,  on  that  melancholy  occasioni 
may  be  ranked  among  the  most  splendid  effusions  of  oratory." 

NOTE  15. 

Could  imitate  their  scalp-halloo.     P.  37. 

"  For  every  scalp, and  for  every  prisoner  taken,  the  scalp-yell* 
or  as  it  is  sometimes  called  the  death-halloo,  was  raised  in  all 
its  mingled  tones  of  triumph  and  tenor.  The  scalp-yell  is  the 
most  terrific  note  which  an  Indian  can  raise,  and  from  the  num 
bers  that  had  fallen  during  this  expedition,  it  was  often  repeated." 
Col.  Stone's  Life  of  Brandt,  Vol.  I.  p.  388. 

NOTE  16. 

And  chant  the  warrior's  dirge.     P.  37. 

The  death-song  of  the  warrior  is  common,  I  believe,  to  all  the 
North  American  tribes  of  Indians,  and  like  the  fabled  song  of 


100  NOTES. 

the  swan,  it  is  believed  to  be  not  only  the  last,  but  the  first  dis 
play  of  their  musical  powers.  It  consists  generally  of  an  im 
provised  recitative  of  their  own  acts  of  valor,  and,  if  at  the  stake, 
mingled  with  taunts  of  cowardice  upon  their  captors,  which, 
craft  and  subtlety  to  the  last,  is  doubtless  designed  to  provoke  a 
more  speedy  termination  of  their  sufferings.  The  following, 
from  Mr.  Cooper's  Last  of  the  Mohicans,  will  be  recollected  as 
the  language  of  Chingachgook  and  his  son  Uncas,  two  Delaware 
chiefs,  when,  as  they  supposed,  about  falling  into  the  hands  of 
the  Hurons  at  Glenn's  Cataract.  The  taunt  of  Uncaa  is  in  allu 
sion  to  one  of  the  Huron  warriors,  who  had  taken  his  station  in 
the  upper  branches  of  a  tree,  to  shoot  from  thence  upon  their 
encampment,  and  who  had  been  dislodged  by  one  of  their  rifles 
and  dropped  dead  into  the  river.  Chingachgook.  "  Let  the 
Mingo  women  go  weep  over  their  slain  !  the  great  snake  of  the 
Mohicans  has  coiled  himself  in  their  wigwam,  and  has  poisoned 
their  triumph,  with  the  waitings  of  children  whose  fathers  have 
not  returned  !  Eleven  warriors  lie  hid  far  from  the  grave*  of 
their  tribes  since  the  snows  have  melted,  and  none  will  tell 
where  to  find  them,  when  the  tongue  of  Chingachgook  shall  be 
silent !  Let  them  draw  the  sharpest  knife,  and  whirl  the  swiftest 
tomahawk,  for  their  bitterest  enemy  is  in  their  hands.  Uncas, 
my  boy,  topmost  branch  of  a  noble  trunk,  call  on  the  cowards 
to  hasten,  or  their  hearts  will  soften,  and  they  will  change  to 
women  !" 

"  They  look  among  the  fish  for  their  dead  !"  returned  the  low 
soft  voice  of  the  youthful  chieftain.  "  The  Hurons  float  with 
the  slimy  eels !  They  drop  from  the  oak,  like  fruit  that  is 
ready  to  be  eaten  !  and  the  Delawares  laugh  !" 

Charlevoix  relates  that  an  Indian  of  the  Ottogami,  or  Fox 
tribe,  was  tortured  by  the  Illinois.  After  loading  them  with  all 
the  insults  he  could  think  of,  he  looked  round  and  saw  among 
their  number  a  Frenchman  from  Canada,  whom  he  knew.  He 
called  out  to  him  to  '  assist  the  Illinois  in  tormenting  him}  '  And 
why  should  1  assist  them?'  cried  the  Frenchman.  '  That  I  may 
have  the  comfort  of  dying  by  the  hands  of  a  MAN,'  said  the  pri 
soner  ;  my  greatest  grief  is  that  Inner  kitted  a  MAN.'  Here  an 


NOTES.  101 

Illinois  interrupted  him,  and  said  that  he  had  killed  such  and 
such  persons — naming  several  of  the  Illinois  tribe.  '  Ha  !  ha  ! 
The  Illinois,  indeed  /'  said  the  captive  with  an  air  of  contemptu 
ous  defiance.  '  The  Illinois  !  I  have  killed  enough  of  them  truly, 
but  I  have  never  killed  a  MAN  !'  His  enraged  foes  probably  soon 
paid  him  for  this  speech,  as  he  expected  and  hoped,  with  - 
death-blow. 

Thatcher's  Indian  Traits t  Vol.  IL,p.  30. 

NOTE  17. 

If  she  were  not  —  he  little  recks 

How  soon  his  head,  the  death-cap  decks.     P.  37. 

Col.  Stone,  in  describing  a  dance  of  thanksgiving  of  the  Iro- 
quois  at  Kanadeseaga,  in  1778,  after  the  massacre  at  the  village 
of  Cherry- Valley,  as  witnessed  by  Mrs.  Campbell,  one  of  their 
prisoners,  says,  "  There  was  no  prisoner  put  to  the  torture,  or 
attired  with  the  raven  death-cap  on  this  occasion,  but  the  pri 
soners  were  paraded,  and  the  scalps  borne  in  procession,  as 
would  have  been  the  standards  taken  in  civilized  warfare  in 
the  celebration  of  a  triumph." 

I  have  not  been  able,  on  investigation,  to  find  any  further 
authority  for  this  matter  of  the  "  raven  death-cap,"  and  am  in 
clined  to  suspect  it  a  mere  embellishment  of  the  imagination  on 
the  part  of  the  biographist  of  Thayendanegea. 

NOTE  18. 

As  far  beyond  the  tribes  that  stay 

Near  the  great  Cataract's  ceaseless  spray.     P.  42. 

The  Eries,  or  Erigas,  lived  on  the  south  side  of  the  lake 
which  now  bears  their  name.  Thatcher. 

NOTE  19. 

Where  on  a  shell-strewn  island  stands 
A  bell  not  made  by  mortal  hands.     P.  42. 

There  is  a  rock  situated  on  an  island  in  Lake  Huron,  which, 


102  NOTES. 

on  being  struck,  rings  like  a  church-bell.     The  French  named 
the  island  La  Cloche.  Thatcher. 

NOTE  20. 

Nipercean*  they  —  a  race  lie  said 
Of  whom  himself,  the  honored  head 
Was  knoicn  ajar  by  friend  and  Joe 
The  firm  and  fearless  Ivanough.     P.  42. 

Thatcher  spells  the  name  of  this  tribe  Niperceneans  ;  but  it  is 
so  difficult  to  say  when  one  has  arrived  at  the  correct  ortho 
graphy  of  an  Indian  name,  that  it  may  be  excusable,  to  occasion 
ally  drop  a  supernumerary  letter  or  syllable,  for  the  sake  of 
melody. 

lyanough  was  the  name  of  "  the  courteous  Sachem  of  Cum- 
maquid,"  who  is  described  as  "  not  exceeding  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  very  personable,  gentle,  courteous,  fair  conditioned,  and 
indeed  not  like  a  savage,  save  for  his  attire." 

Journal  of  a  Plantation. 

NOTE  21. 
Before  the  Iroquoit  tee  fied.     P.  42. 

The  story  here  related  by  the  pretended  sachem,  is  matter  of 
history.  The  Niperceneans  formerly  lived  on  the  borders  of 
the  St.  Lawrence,  and  were  driven  thence  by  the  Five  Nations. 
How  Ensenore  became  cognizant  of  the  fact,  may  be  something 
of  a  question,  but  one  which  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  examine 
here. 

NOTE  22. 

Four  chosen  warriors  wtih  him  went, 
All  trebly  armed.     P.  45. 

Mr.  Thatcher  relates  the  following  anecdote,  of  a  chief  of  the 
Adirondacks,  as  taking  place  at  a  time  when  that  tribe  had  be 
come  nearly  exterminated  by  the  Iroquois.  "  He  and  his  four 
comrades  solemnly  devoted  themselres  to  the  purpose  of  re- 


NOTES.  103 

deeming  the  sullied  glory  of  the  nation,  at  a  period  when  the 
prospect  of  conquest,  and  perhaps  of  defence,  had  already  be 
come  desperate.  They  set  out  for  Trois  Rivieres  in  one  canoe  ; 
each  of  them  being  provided  with  three  muskets,  which  they 
loaded  severally  with  two  bullets,  connected  by  a  small  chain 
ten  inches  in  length.  In  Sorel  river  they  met  with  five  boats  of 
the  Iroquois,  each  having  on  board  ten  men.  As  the  parties 
rapidly  came  together,  the  Adirondacks  pretended  to  give  them 
selves  up  for  lost,  and  began  howling  the  death-song.  This 
was  continued  till  their  enemy  was  just  at  hand.  They  then 
suddenly  ceased  singing,  and  fired  simultaneously  on  the  five 
canoes.  The  charge  was  repeated  with  the  arms  which  lay 
ready  loaded,  and  the  slight  birches  of  the  Iroquois  were  torn 
asunder,  and  the  frightened  occupants  tumbled  overboard  as  fast 
as  possible.  Piskaret  and  his  comrades,  after  knocking  as 
many  of  them  on  the  head  as  they  pleased,  reserved  the  re 
mainder  to  feed  their  revenge,  which  was  soon  afterwards  done 
by  burning  them  alive  in  the  most  cruel  tortures." 

The  author  supposes  Mr.  Thatcher  may  have  been  mistaken 
in  the  name  and  tribe  of  the  chief  who  performed  this  exploit, 
and  that  to  Eagle-Eye  of  the  Hurons,  the  credit  in  fact  belongs. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  there  seems,  by  the  text,  to  have  been  some 
heroic  act  performed  by  the  Huron,  similar,  at  least,  as  far  as 
regards  the  number  of  his  coadjutors. 

NOTE  23. 
Their  moccasins  reversed.     P.  45. 

"  Accustomed,  as  an  Indian  must  be,  to  all  emergencies  of 
travelling,  as  well  as  warfare,  he  took  the  precaution  of  putting 
the  hinder  part  of  his  snow-shoes  forward,  so  that  if  his  footsteps 
should  happen  to  be  observed  by  his  vigilant  enemy,  it  might  be 
supposed  he  was  going  the  contrary  way."  Thatcher. 

NOTE  24. 

To  ichich  the  maddening  bowl  gave  birth.     P.  56. 
That  the  infuriating  "  fire-water"  was  introduced  among  those 


104  NOTES. 

tribes  of  Indians  who  were  in  alliance  with  the  Europeans,  at  a 
still  earlier  day  than  the  one  referred  to  in  the  text,  appears  by 
a  speech  of  the  celebrated  chief,  Garangula,  to  M.  De  Labare, 
governor  of  Upper  Canada,  in  1684,  in  which  he  speaks  of  the 
"  Jesuits  who  break  all  the  kegs  of  rum  brought  to  our  castles, 
lest  the  drunken  Indians  should  knock  them  on  the  head." 

NOTE  25. 

And  round  hit  lengthened  locks  of  jet.     P.  59. 

The  hair  of  the  American  savages,  says  Thatcher,  still  more 
decidedly  than  their  color,  distinguishes  them  from  all  other 
people.  It  is  uniformly,  in  each  of  the  sexes,  black,  until 
changed  by  age.  It  is  often  described,  also,  as  lank,  and  hanging 
in  knots. 

NOTE  26. 
Upon  the  unknown  Brave.     P.  •!. 

A  brave  is  a  warrior  distinguished  for  his  prowess.  The  title, 
I  believe,  involves  no  other  rank.  I  suppose  the  term  to  be  of 
modern  use,  only,  among  the  natives,  and  to  be  borrowed  from 
the  English  adjective. 

NOTE  27. 

As  doubtless  holding  tome  strange  charm, 
Potent,  perhaps,  to  work  such  harm.     P.  64. 

The  savages  believe  in  charms  and  spells,  but,  in  their  unlet 
tered  state,  have  not  the  vnost  remote  conception  of  the  nature 
of  written  communication,  unless  through  the  medium  of  pictures 
and  symbols. 

NOTE  28. 

One  powerful  arm,  his  boat  propelled.     P.  83. 
See  Note  10. 


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